The Price of a Life
by CaroH
Summary: A team member is in trouble and the clock is ticking.
1. Chapter 1

I discovered NCIS Los Angeles a few weeks ago and instantly became intrigued about the enigma that is G. Callen. This is my first fanfic for this programme and is set early in Season 2 not long after Deeks joins the team. I am not familiar with Los Angeles which means I will be vague about actual locations.

The Price of a Life

Chapter One

Eric's trademark piercing whistle echoed around the NCIS headquarters. "Hetty wants everyone in the Ops center."

The three members of the team on duty looked up expectantly. "Sounds like we have a new assignment," Sam said.

"Great," Kensi replied. "I just hope it isn't a stakeout. Spending hours in the car with Deeks is my idea of hell."

"Hey," Deeks protested. "It's not my fault you don't know how to spend time with a man without thinking about sex."

Kensi rolled her eyes. "Now I have a picture in my mind that will mentally scar me for life."

"Save it, children," Sam chided. "You know what happens when we keep Hetty waiting."

"What?" Deeks asked. "What happens?"

Sam looked at the younger man, a serious expression on his face. "You don't ever want to find out."

Deeks trailed after Sam and Kensi. "It can't be too bad. She isn't that scary." He stopped halfway up the stairs to think. "Well, I'll admit she's kinda scary. Small but..." He realized that he was talking to himself and hurried to catch up.

Sam and Kensi's grins faded when they walked into the unusual silence. Eric, sitting at his work station, had his back to them, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Hetty, her expression somber, stood in front of the large screen, her hands clasped behind her back. The screen itself was blank.

"The video you are about to see arrived less than ten minutes ago," Hetty said. "Mr. Beale is working to trace its origin." She walked to the side of the screen to give them an uninterrupted view. "If you please, Mr. Beale."

Eric pressed a button and the screen lit up. The picture was blurred for a moment before becoming sharper, presumably due to the camera operator adjusting the focus. The lens was trained on a man shackled to a chair. His bowed head was covered with a black hood and his grey t-shirt was ripped and blood stained.

Sam took a step forward, his brow creased by a frown. "How are we supposed to ID him if we can't see his face?"

"Patience, Mr. Hanna."

The only sound on the tape was the prisoner's labored breathing. Another man walked into view wearing a ski mask. He ignored the camera, reaching down to pull off the hood. The man in the chair raised his head slowly, dazed blue eyes locating and fixing on the camera.

Sam's heart missed a beat. "G!"

The left side of Callen's face was red and swollen, his eye partly closed. A cloth, shoved between his teeth and tied behind his head, ensured his silence.

"Eric, we need a trace now," Sam said.

"I'm trying. The video feed has been routed through numerous IP addresses." Eric's frustration could be heard clearly.

"What's your agent's life worth?" the masked man asked. "I'm feeling generous, despite the fact that he infiltrated my organization. You have twenty-four hours to think about that before I auction him off to the highest bidder. I'm sure there are a number of domestic and foreign groups who would love to get their hands on Mr. Callen."

Callen's gaze moved to his captor before returning to the camera. The slight shake of his head sent out a message which was wholly unnecessary. 'Don't negotiate.' The harsh truth, which Callen knew as well as any of them, was that negotiation wasn't an option.

"Tell me you've found something," Sam almost growled at their tech operator.

"Nearly there," Eric replied.

The screen went blank.

"What was he working on?" Kensi asked.

"It was a deep cover operation. There was a lot of chatter about a group that was targeting the intelligence community. We had a lead and sent Mr. Callen in to exploit it."

"Without back-up?" Sam asked.

"I felt that Mr. Callen would be safer if we cut him off completely. He agreed. For the last ten days we have had no information on his whereabouts."

"How could you do that?" Sam asked. "How could you just leave him out there on his own?"

"He is an experienced operative as you very well know, Mr. Hanna. He knew the risks and accepted them."

"They know his real name," Kensi said. "I get that they might have found out that he was an undercover operative, but how did they find out his name? Callen's a ghost and he wouldn't have told them even under torture."

"That is a very good question, Miss Blye. We can ask them when we find them."

"Got it!" Eric called excitedly. A street scene flashed onto the screen. "It's a bank but it's been empty for the last couple of years and is scheduled for demolition. I've sent the address to your phone, Sam."

"Let's go," Sam ordered, heading for the door at a run.

"Be careful," Hetty called after them before adding in a softer voice, "and bring our boy home."

NCISLA

Callen sat on the thin mattress which had been placed in one corner of the room. His right wrist was encircled by a metal cuff to which a thick chain was attached. The other end of the chain was bolted to the wall well above head height. The chain was long enough to allow him to reach a primitive toilet and a tap which was the only source of water. The smell was unpleasant.

He'd been thoroughly searched after the beating which had left almost every inch of his body covered in bruises. Anything that might have been used to pick the lock on the cuff had been removed. The one time that he had tried to pry the tap from the wall had resulted in a second beating, more severe than the first. He now had cracked ribs and a swollen left knee to contend with.

He glared at the winking red light of the camera. It was close to the ceiling and swivelled to follow his every move. Used to hardship and a lack of privacy while on some of his more remote assignments, the scrutiny in itself didn't bother him. The fact that Trask knew he belonged to NCIS, and knew his true identity, was what troubled him.

He settled his back against the corner of the wall, feeling the chill from the bricks seeping through his shirt. The room had no windows so it was hard to judge the passage of time. A naked bulb hanging from the ten foot ceiling provided the only light. The heavy metal door, tantalisingly out of reach, was locked whenever he was left alone.

There had been no attempt to question him. Trask seemed disinterested in pursuing that pointless exercise and didn't want to risk Callen's premature death. Money was the object; a lot of money. Callen has a sinking feeling that there were several psychopathic people who would be prepared to pay almost any price for the pleasure of torturing and killing him.

Being ransomed by the Government, however, wasn't a viable solution to his present predicament. He was under no illusions about that. Hetty would take it hard, but would have no choice other than to follow protocol. His best hope lay with his team, particularly with Sam. The former SEAL had made it clear many times that he still operated on the principle that you never leave a member of your team behind. Sometimes, though, the odds were just stacked against you.

He sighed, adjusting his position to take the strain off his ribs, and wondered if his luck was finally about to run out.

NCISLA

After the financial crash of 2008 many banks had closed their doors, not all of them voluntarily. The building that Eric had pinpointed had been one of those casualties. It sat in a rundown neighbourhood, home to the kind of people who were happiest after dark when they could pursue their illegal occupations relatively free from interference. The handful of people on the street looked to Sam like they were coming down from last night's high and showed no interest in their surroundings.

Sam parked the car a block away from the building. Kensi, sitting in the passenger seat, was checking her SIG. Deeks leaned forward from his place in the back seat, eager to get into action. They all wore bulletproof vests with NCIS prominently displayed on the back.

Sam touched his earpiece to activate the link with HQ. "We're in position. It looks quiet. What do you see, Eric?"

"There's a traffic cam a couple of blocks down which gives a view of the front door. No eyes on the rear of the building. We've been watching since you left. No one has gone in or out."

"Any heat signatures?" Kensi asked.

"The walls are reinforced concrete which makes it hard to get a reading. What we do know is that there are two entrances. One at the front and one on the west side of the building."

"So we're going in blind?" Deeks asked.

"It won't be the first time," Sam said. "Keep your eyes and ears open and we'll do just fine."

"Mr. Hanna." Hetty's voice came over the comlink. "Director Vance has authorized you to take any action necessary to secure the location and retrieve Mr. Callen."

Sam's mouth turned up in a feral grin. "My pleasure."

The three agents exited the car. Sam gestured to the rear of the building. "Kensi, you and Deeks take the side door. I'm going in the front. Shoot anything that moves."

Kensi nodded, touched Sam gently on the arm and then took off with Deeks right behind her.

Sam kept to the shadows while he worked his way toward the front of the building. It stood only one storey high. The large windows fronting the sidewalk were dirty and covered with blinds which had seen better days. He ducked down to keep his head below the level of the glass, not willing to take any risks. The door was locked. He holstered his gun, pulled out his lock pick, and had it open in under thirty seconds.

Gun in hand, he took a long, calming breath. "Hang on G.," he whispered. "We're on our way."

The door creaked on unoiled hinges. Sam froze in place, listening intently for any sounds from inside the building. His breathing was even; his training and experience as a SEAL and as a NCIS agent settling over him like a second skin.

Soft footed he moved into the building. He saw the front counter, a high desk for customers and a couple of broken chairs lying on the ground. Standing close to the wall he studied the floor. Boot prints marred the layer of dust on the floor, stark evidence that several people had been in the building recently. Off to one side were a series of scuff marks. Sam narrowed his eyes. He would be willing to bet that they'd been made by his partner, who would not have gone willingly with his captors.

He followed the line of prints leading to the door which would take him behind the counter and into the secure area which had once housed the bank employees. The card reader had been smashed and dangled uselessly from its wires. The door stood ajar. Sam put his left hand on the handle, shoved the door open and darted through. He turned from side to side, his gun at the ready. There were no signs of life.

The next door led to a long corridor. Hearing movement, he took aim, only relaxing when Deeks peered round the corner at the far end. Sam pointed to the doors on to his right. Deeks nodded. He and Kensi searched each office, moving together as a team, their earlier bickering forgotten, while Sam concentrated on the offices to his left.

"Clear," he called when he reached the end of the corridor.

"Clear," Kensi answered, disappointment clear in her voice.

They walked back out into the open work space. "There's one place we haven't looked," Sam said. He pointed to the door leading to the strong room.

"If it's locked we'll have to blast it open," Kensi said.

"Any news, Mr. Hanna?" Hetty asked, sounding more strained than Sam had ever heard her before.

"No hostiles," he answered. "No sign of G either. We're still looking so stand by."

The safe had a combination lock which was as battered as the card reader. Kensi and Deeks readied themselves, guns pointed toward the door. Sam pulled and the door opened smoothly. He peered into the gloom before turning back to his team.

"He isn't here."

Tbc

Caroline

September, 2012


	2. Chapter 2

The Price of a Life

Chapter Two

Sam, Deeks and Kensi arrived back at headquarters united in worry and with a deep desire to inflict pain on the men dumb enough to be holding their leader hostage. Sam, whose concern for his partner ran the deepest, gave the least sign of what he was feeling. His stoic facade wasn't fooling anyone.

"See if Eric's come up with anything," he said. "I'm going to talk to Hetty."

"We'll find him, Sam," Kensi said.

"Yeah, and when we do I'll kick his skinny ass for taking such a stupid risk without telling his partner."

Hetty was sitting behind her large desk, reading. Sam didn't buy her apparent calm for a minute. He sat without waiting for her to acknowledge him and launched into interrogation mode.

"I want to know everything about G's mission."

Hetty met his stare, holding it until he admitted defeat and looked away. "It is classified, Mr. Hanna."

"Then declassify it." Sam's hold on his temper was razor thin and he wasn't going to hold back despite his admiration for their operations manager. "Help us to find him."

Hetty looked at him severely. "Of course I am going to help. However, there are certain aspects of the case that I cannot divulge. We are not the only Agency that has been compromised."

Sam hesitated before nodding. He didn't like it but understood the need for caution. "You said that he was following a lead."

Hetty unlocked one of the desk drawers, pulled out a file and slid it over to Sam. He opened it eagerly. The first document was a photograph of a dark haired man with a cruel twist to his mouth.

"His name is Alexander Trask although that is undoubtedly an alias. There is no record of him until five years ago when he came to the attention of the CIA following some questionable arms deals in Eastern Europe. He proved to be an elusive target and they lost track of him until six months ago. That was when an agent who had stumbled across his trail disappeared."

"What happened to him?" Sam skimmed the rest of the information in the file, finding it to be short on detail and long on conjecture.

"Her," Hetty corrected him. "I am not at liberty to tell you her name, but her body was found a few weeks later in Syria. She had been stationed there for several years working on counter insurgency and had only been home for a two months. The killing was brutal. Whoever was responsible took their time. Her death was blamed on an extremist group operating just outside Aleppo."

"What has this got to do with Trask?"

"Nothing on the face of it, unless you are a strong believer in coincidences. There have been three further disappearances, all operatives stationed on the west coast ranging from San Francisco to San Diego. Prior to each abduction Trask showed up on surveillance footage in close proximity to the victims."

"Why were we called in?"

"The last person to disappear was in Navel Intelligence based at Coronado. That was three weeks ago. His body washed up on the Baltic shoreline a week later."

"Tell me more about this lead."

Hetty studied her hands. "An anonymous tip given to an undercover police officer. He told his superior, who informed me."

"And that was enough for you to send in Callen and risk his life?"

"Of course, Mr. Hanna. That is the nature of our work." Hetty softened her tone. "Sam, the decision wasn't made lightly. A thorough risk assessment was conducted and Mr. Callen was involved every step of the way. There is more at stake here than you realise."

"It smells like a trap," Sam said bluntly.

"You are quite right. We took that into account when planning the operation."

"G offered himself up as bait?"

"That is not exactly how I would phrase it."

"What was his cover? How was he supposed to get close to Trask?"

"He is Brandon Powell, former black ops, with an expensive gambling habit and a shortage of cash. We created his background and his first move was to become acquainted with Michael John Levitt, a known associate of Trask. Once Callen left here, he was on his own and I have no information on his movements."

"You expected Trask to snatch him," Sam accused. "And you still let him go without backup or any means to alert us if he got into trouble."

"That was one possibility, yes. The plan was for him to turn on the GPS on his phone once he had a location for Trask. Anything else was too much of a risk. It is likely that Trask was an operative himself at one time and would know all the tricks. We couldn't be sure that Callen was the target and didn't want to arouse suspicion."

"So, where does that leave us?"

"Mr. Beale has been trawling through footage from a dozen cameras around the bank. Miss Jones is analysing the surveillance evidence we have on Trask to see if she can identify any of his associates or locations. I suggest we join them in the Ops Center to see if they have made any progress."

"What about Levitt?"

"He has gone to ground, and we have had no success in finding him, or the identity of the original informant."

NCISLA

Callen rolled up the left leg of his trousers to take a closer look at his knee. It was red, puffy, tender to the touch and radiating heat. It was possible to ignore pain; harder to deal with restricted movement when speed was essential. Cooling the injury might reduce the swelling and was his only option since he couldn't see his guards offering him any anti-inflammatory medication. Apart from his clothes, the only available material was a blanket which provided some warmth when the cold crept into his bones at night. He tore a strip from the bottom and pushed himself to his feet. A hiss of pain was locked behind gritted teeth when he put his weight on his injured leg.

The faucet, no more than two feet from his mattress, yielded a stream of icy water. He soaked his makeshift bandage, while the rest of the water swirled down the drain in the concrete floor. Lowering himself back down onto the mattress was almost more painful than standing up. He ignored the camera, sure that every move was being watched, and wrapped the material around his knee. The chill quickly moderated to a more comfortable level. He lay down, closed his eyes and willed his body to get better.

When the key turned in the lock he knew it was too soon for them to be bringing him food. That could only mean that Trask was coming to gloat – again. Moving was too much of an effort when he was trying to conserve his strength for an escape attempt. He had been planning it for a couple of days and might have risked it earlier if he'd known that he was going to be drugged, taken to another location, and made the reluctant star of a video. That hadn't been part of Trask's modus operandi before.

"If you're the best that NCIS can send against me then I don't think I have much to worry about," Trask said.

"From what I've heard you've upset every agency in the country. It's only a matter of time before someone takes you down."

"I was expecting more from you. It's disappointing when the legend and the truth have nothing in common."

"Legends seldom live up to the hype." Callen opened his eyes and reluctantly sat up. "Now you...you were supposed to be untouchable. Let me tell you, pal, you're running out of places to hide. If I hadn't been betrayed, you'd either be behind bars or in an unmarked grave."

Trask lounged against the wall by the open door, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "You want to know who betrayed you. I'll tell you just before I hand you over to the highest bidder. Time is running out, Callen."

"Why send the video to NCIS? You know they won't pay for my release."

"It amuses me to watch them running around trying to find you. They went to the bank exactly on schedule. Your partner was not looking happy when he left. And the woman... she's hot. I wouldn't mind spending some quality time with her."

Callen surged to his feet, fury clouding his judgement. The chain tightened, jerking him to a off balance. Pain exploded in his knee. "Shit!" He landed back on the floor, bracing himself with his hands.

Trask laughed. "Did I touch a nerve?"

Callen raised his head. "She'd castrate you if you tried to touch her."

"Perhaps we'll find out once I'm finished with you. Word has already spread that you're my prisoner. I have received several interesting offers. You have pissed off a remarkable number of people during your career. The Russians are particularly keen to take you off my hands."

"Is that supposed to scare me? You'll have to do better than that." With extreme care Callen limped back to the mattress.

"I am sure that very little scares you, but that doesn't make you immune to pain."

Callen ignored the taunt. "Why are you doing this? It's a long way from illegal arms dealing."

"We all have our reasons." Trask uncrossed his arms to look at his watch. "Time to check on the progress of the auction. You should conserve your strength. I'm sure you're going to need it."

NCISLA

Hetty followed Sam to the ops center, noting the tense set of his shoulders and the determination in his stride. He would never know how much she regretted sending Callen on this operation, even though there had been no choice.

A myriad of images filled the screen. Nell and Eric were both talking, finishing each other's sentences as they did so often when engrossed in a case. Kensi was looking at something over Nell's shoulder. Deeks, new and unsure of his position within the group, held back but studied the screen intently.

"Progress, Mr. Beale?"

Eric swivelled round in his chair. "I think so. There are a lot of unconnected facts so far."

"Are we any closer to finding Callen?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly."

"What then?" Sam glowered at the younger man.

"I 've been studying the traffic cams around the bank building where they shot the video. They didn't use the front entrance and the side door is in a blind spot. So, I widened the parameters of the search. An hour before the video stream reach us this van approached the bank from the north west." He pressed a button on his computer and a photograph popped up on the screen. "Twenty minutes after we received the video it showed up again on traffic cams heading east."

Nell enlarged it and pointed to a logo on the side of the vehicle. "It belongs to a contract cleaning firm. It was reported stolen last night, but, here's the thing. That firm belongs to a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands. There were a lot of layers until we found a holding company. And, here's where it gets interesting. One of the directors of the holding company is Michael John Levitt who was identified as an associate of the man we believe is holding Callen."

"So it might not have been stolen," Sam said thoughtfully. "Where did it go, Eric?"

"Unfortunately we lost it for a few minutes. When we picked it up again it had been abandoned with the rear doors left open." He zoomed in on another picture of the van. "LAPD has sent out a forensic team to see what they can find."

"We need to pay a visit to the owners of that van," Sam said.

"We have more." Nell enlarged a photograph of an attractive blonde woman. Standing next to her, with his arm around her waist, was Alexander Trask. "This picture was taken at a hotel in San Diego less than twenty-four hours before the disappearance of the Naval Intelligence Officer. Her name is Miranda Harper." A driver's license appeared on the screen. "She was a straight A student from Idaho who decided there were easier ways to make money than going to college."

"She's an expensive escort with an address in Los Angeles." Eric looked a little flushed while he delivered that information. "She has appeared in several pictures with Trask."

"We'll follow up," Kensi said. "Ready, Deeks?"

"Detective Deeks has a different assignment," Hetty interjected. "I made a few calls to find out the name of the undercover officer who passed on the original intel about Trask. Naturally he wouldn't reveal his source. His name is Jeff Dunn. Do you know him?"

"I've heard of him. He works deep cover and never goes near a police precinct. I wouldn't recognize him if I met him in the street."

"The question is," Hetty continued, "would he recognize you as a police officer?"

"I doubt it."

"Then I suggest you dust off one of your aliases. Mr. Beale will send you an address where you should be able to find him."

"How did you get that? LAPD never gives out details of its undercover cops."

"Oh, I know a few people and they owe me some favors. Favors I am willing to spend to find Mr. Callen. You all have your assignments and we have less than twenty hours left to find him."

Tbc

Caroline

September, 2012

Thank you for reading, for the reviews, story alerts etc. Although I am not a huge fan of flashbacks I would like to know what Callen was doing for the last ten days and how he ended up in this mess. The next chapter will answer some of those questions. I am also looking for a beta if anyone is interested.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reading and for the reviews, alerts etc. Thanks also to my betas who gave good advice and made me work harder.

The Price of a Life

Chapter Three

A pot of Oolong tea brewed on Hetty's desk. She had been introduced to its delightful flavor many years earlier while on assignment in China's Fujian Province. Her supply of this particularly rare variety had run low and she made a mental note to contact her old friend, Kuan-yin. She poured the light gold liquid into a vintage china cup, inhaling the rich floral aroma. The familiar routine allowed her to appear calm even though her stomach churned with fear for the man she had watched over for so many years.

As soon as her operatives left on their separate assignments Hetty made a call to Director Vance.

"I don't like lying to my team, Leon," she stated by way of greeting.

"There wasn't a choice."

"We should at least have told Callen."

"It's a matter of national security. You know that. Besides it's too late to worry about what we did or didn't tell him. Focus on the mission."

"Leon!" Hetty's fingers tightened on the spoon which she had been using to stir her tea. She made a conscious effort to relax, annoyed that her tone had betrayed her feelings.

"So far as we know he's missing, not dead. He's been in tougher situations than this and come out alive." The edge to the Director's tone contained a warning which Hetty chose to ignore.

"Callen is in the hands of a psychopath who has been led to believe that he executed his brother. We sent him in unprepared." Hetty realized she had raised her voice when a number of people passing close to her desk turned to look at her.

"Alexei Tupikov's brother is the common thread." Vance paused momentarily. When he spoke again he was more conciliatory. "All the operatives killed so far played a part in the joint task force that killed him and the senior members of his drug cartel. There were others involved who remain at risk until we flush out the informant and put an end to Alexei's killing spree. Callen has the best chance of success."

"He goes by the name of Alexander Trask now." Hetty picked up her cup and took a sip of tea. Her hand remained steady when she returned it to the saucer. "He has been very careful to distance himself from the killings, but I believe he will take his revenge on Callen personally. Trask and his brother were very close."

"Any progress with your enquiries?"

"We have some leads. If we can believe Trask, we have less than twenty hours before Callen is handed over to the highest bidder, or," she closed her eyes momentarily, "he is killed. Are you any closer to finding the informant?"

"The false information about Callen's involvement was put in the hands of four people. We have eliminated two of them from our enquiries and we are closing in on the person responsible."

"When you find him, make him talk. It might be our only hope of finding Callen alive. Use every means at your disposal."

"We have laws, Henrietta. We can't torture a high ranking official in the Department of Defense," Vance cautioned.

"Like hell you can't! Find him and break him. If we lose Callen because of this operation you can expect to receive my resignation." Hetty disconnected the call.

NCISLA

Callen rested his head against the wall while allowing his eyelids to droop. Let them think that he wasn't a threat. He was trying to prepare himself, mentally and physically, for an escape attempt but was finding it difficult to stop analyzing the events leading up to his capture. Something about this assignment had bothered him from the start and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing a vital piece of information.

**Eight Days earlier**

The apartment he had rented as part of his cover story wasn't any different from many he had lived in over the years. Callen, in the persona of Brandon Powell, studied his reflection in the grimy mirror. The face staring back at him was that of a man who had seen too much violence and viewed life through a lens of deep cynicism.

His target, Michael John Levitt, once a small time accountant, had inexplicably become rich almost overnight. The lead he was following suggested that Levitt had made his fortune by laundering dirty money for Trask. Despite his new-found wealth, Levitt still frequented the same strip clubs, poker games and bars and Callen had been right on his tail since leaving headquarters, arranging small unexplained accidents. Levitt had become visibly jumpy. He was a small fish who had fallen into a pond with piranhas and the events of the last couple of days had him watching his back. Tonight Callen was ready to make his move.

A worn brown leather jacket lay on the bed next to a wallet filled with fake ID's. Callen checked them again before sliding the wallet into his back pocket. His phone had been purchased in a nondescript little shop in Venice and contained no numbers that could be traced back to NCIS. A .45 calibre Taurus 24/7, nestling reassuringly behind his back, was one of a small collection weapons he had spent years acquiring on the black market. He would like to think that none of his colleagues knew about them except that experience told him that Hetty would know the make, model and serial number of every single one.

He picked up the jacket and took one last look in the mirror. With a deep inhalation of air he closed his eyes. He expelled the breath slowly, waiting for his heart beat to slow into a normal rhythm. When he opened his eyes again all trace of G. Callen had disappeared. He no longer walked with the self assured stride of a Federal agent who would kill without hesitation or remorse. Anyone looking at him would see a world weary man drifting through life without a sense of direction. He drew into himself keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact. His whole demeanor discouraged attention.

He was waiting across the street when Levitt left his office. The accountant couldn't have been much more than five foot six but he was carrying at least two hundred and forty pounds, most of it round his middle. Sparse sandy-blond hair and a nervous tic conspired to make him an unimposing figure.

Callen's lips twitched in a small smile before he moved, keeping pace with his target. Levitt walked quickly, eyes darting around as if expecting to encounter a threat at any moment. Five blocks further brought them to a stark dividing line. On one side of the cross street were respectable offices and stores, on the other the buildings housed adult shops, tattoo parlors and other less savory businesses.

Levitt turned down an alleyway, making his way carefully past the debris littering the uneven concrete. Part way down was the entrance to a strip club. Callen waited ten minutes before following him. The club was full of men leering at women who were wearing nothing more than a g-string. Callen imagined the strippers as prom queens and cheerleaders who had believed those who had told that they were pretty enough to make it in Hollywood. They had learned the hard way that it wasn't only looks that you needed to make your mark in the city of Angels. He settled down at the bar, keeping Levitt in sight. The accountant pawed at the naked flesh thrust into his face and dispensed handfuls of hundred dollar bills. The women took it all with fixed smiles hiding their disgust.

Over the course of two hours, Callen drank three beers and flirted with the waitresses. When Levitt got up to leave he was right behind, walking through the door on his heels.

The red dot of a sniper rifle centered on Levitt's chest. Callen threw himself at the accountant, pushing him behind a dumpster. The first bullet hit the wall inches away from Levitt's face

"Stay down," he yelled, drawing his Taurus. Two more bullets followed. Callen stood up and squeezed off three of the thirteen rounds to make it convincing before ducking back down. Levitt was watching him with wide frightened eyes, sweat pouring down his face.

There were no more gunshots. Callen looked at the cowering man. "Someone doesn't like you," he said.

"They were trying...oh god, they were trying to kill me." Levitt turned his head and vomited, the sour smell mingling with the stench of the refuse in the dumpster.

Callen edged further away. "That was a professional hit. You must have made some powerful enemies."

"You saved my life."

Callen shrugged. "I didn't want to be collateral damage. Besides, if someone shoots at me I shoot back."

"You're a Vet?"

"I've done my bit for my country." He allowed some bitterness to creep into his tone. "Didn't get much thanks at the end of it."

Levitt wiped his hand across his moist forehead. "I'll pay you to protect me."

"Go to the cops." He returned his gun to its usual resting place, pulling his jacket down to conceal it.

"I can't."

Callen considered him. "So, you're mixed up with something illegal. Fine. I could use the money. Pay me five hundred a day and I'll stick to you like a shadow." He held out his hand and waited for Levitt to shake on the deal.

The money he'd spent setting up the fake hit had done its job. He just wasn't sure how Hetty would react when she saw it on his expense claim!

**Present Day**

Callen's eyes shot open and he jerked himself upright. Falling asleep hadn't been part of his plan. The sudden movement pulled on his ribs, causing a sharp intake of breath. The left side of his face ached. For the first few hours after he had been ambushed he hadn't been able to see out of his left eye. Even now he couldn't get it to open completely.

He braced his hands on the mattress and tried to stand. His first attempt failed when his knee buckled underneath him. He gritted his teeth and used the wall for leverage. Once he was on his feet he took a minute to glare at the camera. Hopefully anyone watching would interpret that look as defiance and not fear of falling on his ass if he relinquished the support. He limped to the tap and splashed cold water over his face and neck.

He'd been thinking about Levitt. It had taken four days to convince the man to trust him. At the end of that time the accountant had practically begged Callen to kill Trask. He'd also offered a small fortune as additional incentive. In the paranoid state induced by Callen's careful lies and innuendos, he was convinced that Trask had ordered his death to tie up loose ends.

Trask was allegedly holed up in a storage facility at the edge of a small private airfield. It was close, Levitt said, to Trask's company jet and would enable a quick escape out of the country. Callen was inclined to be cautious. He didn't want to call in his team, storm the building and find that Trask wasn't there. Getting another solid lead could take months, during which time Trask could continue his operations from any number of countries where money was more powerful than the rule of law. He wanted eyes on his target without spooking the man.

He returned to the mattress. His body ached with tiredness. Even his brain was having trouble stringing his thoughts together. Callen latched on to his wandering train of thought and pulled it back on track. He'd missed something and it was nagging at him.

Before setting out on his reconnaissance mission he had provided Levitt with false credentials and a bolt hole and had made it clear that if he'd been lied to their next meeting wouldn't be so friendly. He could arrange Levitt's arrest once Trask was out of the way. After that he had walked right into the trap set by Alexander Trask. He didn't know if Levitt had betrayed him at the last minute but his gut told him that there were other factors at play.

The key turned in the lock. Callen looked up in anticipation. As usual two men walked into the room, one carrying a gun, the other carrying a sandwich and a bottle of water. The larger man had been a member of the team that had taken him down during his reconnaissance mission. They had subdued him with their fists, countering every move he'd made with brutal efficiency. He'd only landed one punch on this man and it had been like hitting a rock. He reminded Callen of The Hulk, standing at least a couple of inches taller than Sam and having muscles that a weightlifter would envy. His bulk filled the doorway while his expression dared Callen to try something.

The smaller man had a thin face with a sharp nose and chin. He had held back, letting his larger colleagues do all the hard work. Callen had started to think if him as a weasel, darting in to land a blow and then getting out of the way of any retaliation. It was with a sense of relief that Callen saw Weasel was carrying the food. Even if he had been one hundred percent fit, he knew from painful experience that he couldn't take on the Hulk.

"Get up," Hulk ordered. "Up against the wall with your hands behind your head."

It amused him that they were wary of him when he was unarmed, beaten black and blue and shackled. Maybe that meant they were smarter than they looked. He stood up carefully, taking as much weight as possible on his right leg and shuffled backwards to give maximum slack on the chain tethering him to the wall.

Weasel approached warily. The second he was within reach, Callen moved. Using his left hand he spun the man around to use as a shield. In the same movement he looped the chain around Weasel's neck, twisting it so that it bit into flesh.

"The key," he said. Until he was freed from the cuff around his right wrist he didn't dare slacken his hold to reach for Weasel's gun.

"I don't have it," Weasel replied, gasping for air.

Callen tightened his grip, turning his attention to the Hulk who was standing indecisively in the doorway. "Who has it?"

His time was running out. Every move had been captured by the security camera. Already he could hear raised voices and the sound of men running. "I'll break his neck," he threatened, fighting to keep his voice low and level. The strain of holding his hostage was starting to take its toll. He had his weight now firmly planted on both legs and his left knee was a mass of throbbing pain. The tendons in his arms were stretched almost beyond bearing but if he slackened his hold it was all over. Weasel was scrabbling at the chain desperately trying to get his fingers between it and his neck, but Callen's grip held firm.

The Hulk moved out of the way to make space for Trask to come into the room. "Let him go, Agent Callen. No one is going to free you."

He'd known his plan was unlikely to succeed, but a desperate man will try anything. He was left with one option. His gaze steady on Trask he prepared to release his stranglehold and go for Weasel's gun. Trask fired his own gun before he could move. The bullet hit Callen's hostage in the chest. The man dropped, dragging Callen with him. He landed heavily on his knees, his vision darkening. His right arm was trapped by the weight of the dead body. He tried to reach for the gun with his left hand, his fingertips brushing against the handle.

A second bullet plowed into his left shoulder. With an involuntary cry of pain he lost control of the muscles in his left arm. Panting heavily to hold the darkness at bay he looked up. Trask loomed over him, his face a mask of fury. Callen stared down the barrel of the 9mm waiting helplessly for the fatal shot.

"You won't provoke me into giving you an easy death," Trask said, lowering his weapon.

Blood seeped through Callen's t-shirt and ran down his arm. Consciousness was slipping away with a rushing noise like the sound of a waterfall. "I'm worth that much to you?" He concentrated very hard on staying conscious long enough to hear the answer.

"You are worth nothing. I lied to you, just as I lied to your friends. This is personal and I will see you suffer before I kill you."

Tbc

Caroline

September, 2012

In the next chapter we will follow Sam, Kensi and Deeks while they try to locate Callen in time to save his life.


	4. Chapter 4

I am very grateful to my betas for challenging me to improve. To everyone who is reading, sending comments, setting up story alerts and favorites – thank you.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter 4**

Sam used the telephoto lens on his camera to get a closer view of the single storey building occupied by Crane Cleaning Services. From the plans downloaded by Eric he knew that there was one main entrance, half a dozen offices, a small kitchen, washrooms and a storage area for the cleaning supplies. The only other point of entry was through a loading dock at the rear. His attention was drawn to the parking lot at the side of the building which was filled with vans identical to the one they suspected had been used to transport Callen.

He checked his watch. It had been over four hours since he had seen his partner bound, bleeding and at the mercy of a man who wanted him dead. He had to believe that someone in that building had information that would lead them to Callen and he didn't care what methods he had to use to extract it. He activated his comlink. "Talk to me, Eric."

"The man you're looking for is Nick Wozniak. I've sent his picture to your phone."

Sam pulled out his phone and pressed the message icon. The face of a man in his mid-twenties with short brown hair, hazel eyes and non-descript features appeared on the screen. "What do we know about him?"

"Not much except that he's a Russian national who's only been in the US for six months."

Eric's voice was higher pitched than normal, a sure sign that he was feeling as frustrated as the rest of the team. For the second time that day they would have to make decisions with insufficient information. He gripped the steering wheel while he fought the urge to punch his fist through a window. It was only his years of training that kept him calm enough to ask the necessary questions. "Where's Wozniak now?"

"According to Crane's records he's in the building," Eric reported.

Sam pulled out his gun, checked the clip and shoved it back into the waistband of his trousers. "I'm going in."

"Not yet, Mr. Hanna." Hetty joined the conversation, her tone softer and lacking its usual confidence. "There has been a worrying development so I have sent backup. Agent Renko and Mr. Deeks will be with you shortly."

"I don't need backup," Sam growled. "G's life's on the line and we've wasted enough time already." To hell with protocol and procedures! All that mattered was finding Callen.

"Sam, listen to me. The undercover detective, the one Deeks was supposed to interrogate, was killed last night in an automobile accident."

"That's LAPD's problem." Sam knew he was being callous and didn't care.

"Has it occurred to you that this might be a trap?" Hetty asked. "Trask is clever and could easily have planted this lead just like he did in order to capture Mr. Callen. And we have the potential involvement of the Russians who can be ruthless bastards."

"I've walked into worse situations than this, Hetty. I know how to take care of myself."

"Yes, I am aware of that. However, on this occasion you will wait for your backup to arrive. And don't even think about arguing with me, Mr. Hanna. I will not jeopardize the life of one agent in the hope of saving another." There was an unfamiliar note of pleading in Hetty's voice.

"G's my partner and he's running out of time. Come on, you know I'm right." Usually Sam would be the last person to challenge the authority of his operations manager but this wasn't a normal situation.

"I understand how you feel. Mr. Callen is important to all of us but walking into an ambush won't help him."

Sam closed his hands into tight fists, the urge to punch something becoming almost uncontrollable. "Fifteen minutes," he said. "If they're not here by then I'm going in alone."

Hetty gave a soft sigh. "They will be there."

Sam was just about to cut the connection when he heard Hetty telling Eric to make sure that Deeks and Renko had green lights all the way to his location. With a grim smile he settled down to wait.

NCISLA

His shoulder felt like it was on fire. Callen tried to squirm away from the fingers that were roughly probing the bullet wound. Almost immediately he collided with the wall and the breath was forced from his lungs. He kept his eyes tightly closed while he desperately sought to recover his equilibrium.

"Hold him still." Trask sounded impatient. "And get the bleeding stopped. I don't want him dying until I'm ready."

Hands gripped his arms, pushing him down so that he was lying on his side. The remnants of his t-shirt were ripped away and he felt cold air brush across his overheated skin. There was pressure on the entry and exit wounds causing pain and nausea but his efforts to curl up to protect his body from further injury were ruthlessly thwarted. Bile filled his mouth. He turned his head, retching and coughing up the foul tasting liquid.

It wasn't in his nature to submit so he jerked feebly against their hands, trying to loosen their grip until a cloth smelling strongly of antiseptic touched the open wound. Callen cried out in agony before losing his battle to stay awake.

His captor's voice drew him back from the comfortable darkness to an awareness of throbbing pain. He raised his head, squinting until his vision cleared. Trask was using his cell phone and speaking fluent Russian with an accent that Callen recognized.

His surroundings had changed which suggested that he had been unconscious for some time. They had moved him from his prison to a large open area, sitting him in a chair where he was pinned in place by Hulk's hand on his uninjured shoulder. He turned his head slowly to the left. His shoulder and upper arm were swathed with bandages. Nothing had been done to dull the pain. He felt light headed and dizzy from exhaustion and blood loss. Trask was making good on his promise to see him suffer.

"_This is personal."_ Those words were the key. He didn't recognize either the name or the man, which didn't necessarily mean much. He'd made a lot of enemies during his career with various law enforcement agencies. Some of those men had stayed in the shadows; anonymous threats to the safety of innocent civilians and to those who fought to keep them safe.

Nobody was paying attention to him so he took time to study what was going on around him. Trask had clearly decided to take no more chances. A nylon zip tie had been used to secure his wrists behind his back. The strain on his painful ribs and shoulder added to his misery. He tested the strength of the restraint, finding it more than adequate to control him in his weakened condition. His legs were free but the pulses of pain radiating down his left leg from his knee were enough to convince him that standing without help wasn't an option.

He recognized the building from his previous surveillance as the warehouse at the private airfield where he had been captured. Callen wondered why Trask would take the risk of keeping him in the same location. Most terrorists knew to move their prisoners every couple of days and he had been held here, so far as he could tell, for at least four days. The only variation had been the short trip to another location to shoot the footage sent to NCIS.

His chair had been placed out of the direct line of sight of any windows and at least twenty-five feet from the large roller shutter doors. A black Mercedes SLK and two SUVs were parked just inside the warehouse. The bulk of the building was empty, although three of Trask's men sat at a metal table cleaning their guns and talking softly. Callen strained to hear, catching a few words. Their accents were of mixed eastern European origin. It was frustrating to know that there were weapons and transport close at hand and that he couldn't reach them.

He straightened up as much as his injuries, and the weight of Hulk's hand, allowed. Trask turned to face him, finished speaking on his phone and strolled over.

"You're a long way from home," Callen said in flawless Russian, mimicking Trask's northern dialect. "Novgorod?"

"Among many other places." Trask pulled over another chair. "I was told you had a gift for languages."

Callen kept his breaths shallow, although it wasn't helping much. Sweat beaded his forehead and he was finding is increasingly difficult to control the shaking of tired, overstressed muscles. His hands were cold and losing all feeling due to the tightness of the ties around his wrists. "Why is this personal?"

"Do you have a brother, Agent Callen?" Trask's voice was as cold as his eyes.

"No."

"Perhaps a sister."

"No." The lie came easily to him.

Trask studied him carefully. "According to your file you had a sister. How did you feel when you found out she was dead?"

"She died a long time ago." He gave the answer automatically while trying to process the volume of information Trask had about him. Only a handful of people knew about Amy, and he would trust any of them with his life. No, that wasn't right; Keelson had known. Had he sold that knowledge?

"Pay attention, Agent Callen," Trask said sharply. "I was faced with a dilemma, but a man with no living family has to form bonds somewhere. You have worked with your partner, Agent Hanna, for over three years. In that time you have faced death together. You have become brothers in arms."

Callen didn't like where this was going. "I've had a lot of partners. Sam and I work together and we're friends, nothing more."

Trask nodded to Hulk. The backhanded blow to his mouth knocked Callen from the chair. He lay on the dusty floor, his cheek pressed against the concrete, unable to move. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, clouding his vision and his heart rate increased, along with the speed of his breathing. It was tempting to succumb to the darkness again.

"I don't like being lied to," Trask said.

A firm grip on both arms pulled Callen up and returned him to the chair. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting blood. "What do you want?" he asked.

"You have a resourceful team. They picked up my trail sooner than I expected, but don't get your hopes up. The trail they are following will not lead them here. Five minutes ago Agent Hanna entered one of my businesses. It is unlikely that he will leave it alive."

"No!" Callen strained against his bonds and Hulk's firm grip. "If you're going to kill me get on with it, but leave my partner alone."

"I want you to know what it's like to lose someone close to you. If you still had family it would have been easier."

"Why?" Callen's vision was blurring again. He realized that he only remained on the chair because he was being held in place. There was nothing he could do to help Sam except to try and convince Trask to change his plan. Even that was almost beyond him as speech became more difficult. A cold sweat formed on his body, accompanied by a feeling of vertigo.

"Six years ago, outside Zagreb, you killed my brother."

"I've never been to Zagreb," he said wearily. It was impossible to keep his head up even though he wanted to look Trask in the eye and convince him that he was telling the truth. He forced out the words he needed to say. "Someone has lied to you."

He knew now what had been kept from him. Trask had been fed information through a friend and not an enemy. He hadn't been following a lead; he'd been hung out as bait and had never stood a chance. This so called 'friend' realized when they planted the false information in his file that it would also be a death sentence for his partner.

Tbc

Caroline

October 2012


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to my betas and to everyone who is following this story.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter 5**

Sam had lost track of the number of times he'd checked his watch since Hetty had ordered him to wait. Less than ten minutes had elapsed before he knew he couldn't delay any longer. He stepped out of his car at the same time as a blacks a black SUV pulled up behind him.

"Going to the party without us?" Deeks asked, getting out of the passenger side.

"It's about time you got here," Sam replied. He gave a slight nod in greeting to Renko who had emerged from the driver's seat.

"Sorry to hear about Callen," Renko said. "What can we do to help?"

"We need to find this man." Sam showed them Wozniak's picture. "I want him alive and fit to answer questions."

"Got it," Renko said with a slight smile. "Don't kill the suspect."

"What if he runs?" Deeks asked.

Sam glared at him. "You make sure you run faster. Deeks, you're with me. Renko, cover the rear of the building. Don't let him escape."

"So, what's our cover?" Deeks asked as they crossed the street toward the office building.

"I'm a pissed off Federal Agent and you're LAPD. We get in, find him and get out. There's no time for subtlety."

"I never was very subtle," Deeks said.

"I noticed."

The small reception area had white walls, a desk, filing cabinets and a couple of chairs. The receptionist, a woman in her mid-twenties, was on the phone. The sign sitting on the desk identified her as Robyn Stockwell. Sam held up his badge. "We need to talk to you."

"We have visitors," she told the person at the other end of the line. "I'll call you back later." Robyn hung up the call and gave Sam a professional smile. "What can I do for you?"

"We have some questions for Nick Wozniak. Where is he?"

"Nick's in the storeroom." She pointed to her left. "Down that hallway, third door on the right."

"Stay here," Sam instructed Deeks before. stalking off toward the storeroom.

Deeks looked around, spotting a door on the opposite side of the reception area. "What's through there?"

"Offices."

"Mind if I take a look?" Deeks walked quickly over to the door. He was reaching for the handle when he heard the click of a gun's safety being removed. In one smooth move he had his gun in his hand and was diving for cover behind the filing cabinets. "Sam!" he yelled.

Gunfire drowned out the rest of his warning. He waited for the shooting to stop, took a deep breath, stood and fired. Robyn stared at him and then down at the red stain spreading across the front of her blouse. The semi-automatic slipped from her hands before she slumped forward across the desk. Deeks edged toward her to check for a pulse although he didn't expect to find one. "Crap," he muttered before turning in a slow circle, his gun raised and his heart hammering in his chest. The door he had been approaching eased open and he saw the muzzle of another pistol. Cursing his bad luck in walking into a firefight he pulled the trigger twice and took cover again.

Sam heard the warning shout and pulled out his SIG. He was still twenty feet away when the door to the storeroom opened and an armed man ran into the hallway. Sam dropped to the ground, barely avoiding the bullet fired toward him. He raised his gun to shoot, hesitating when he recognized the gunman.

"Federal Agent," he yelled. "Drop your weapon."

Wozniak fired again but Sam was already moving. He flung open the nearest door and hurtled through, checking quickly to make sure that the room was empty. He could still hear shots coming from the direction of the reception area and could only hoped that Deeks was capable of holding off that threat long enough for him to catch his quarry.

He risked a quick look into the hallway. It was empty. "Damn!" Sam sprinted along the hallway toward the loading bay. He slid to a halt when he saw Wozniak lying on the ground at Renko's feet.

Renko smiled. "Stupid bastard didn't expect us to have someone watching the back door."

"Is he alive?"

"He'll have a headache when he wakes up, but nothing that'll stop him answering questions."

Running footsteps were coming in their directions. Sam heard someone running toward them. He raised his gun, lowering it again when Deeks skidded to a sudden stop halt.

"Hold up, big guy," Deeks said. "Did we get him?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome." Deeks pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call LAPD. There are a couple of his friends inside who weren't so lucky."

Sam gave an unpleasant smile. "You think he's the lucky one?" Sam asked, and his smile was not pleasant. He searched their unconscious suspect, pulling out a phone which he tossed to Renko. "Get this to Eric. We'll take this piece of garbage to the boat shed."

NCISLA

"He's not talking." Sam paced up and down in front of the screen connecting him to the Ops Center. Time was passing too quickly and they were no closer to finding G. "Give me something I can use."

"His real name is Yuri Mizirov," Eric reported. "Forensics pulled his prints from the van. He's a Russian national wanted by Interpol. Forensics pulled his prints from the van. He made the call to LAPD last night to report the theft of the vehicle. According to the police report he parked it outside his apartment after work, went to meet some friends and found it was missing when he returned home just after midnight."

"We pulled up traffic and security cam footage in a radius two blocks from his apartment," Nell added. "Thirty minutes before calling the police he drove off in the van, returning twenty minutes later on foot."

"The bastard lied," Sam said. "Want to bet he was driving the van this morning when it was spotted near the bank?"

"We're still working on that," Eric said. "Sam, the forensic team also found a partial thumb print in the van belonging to Callen. There were no other prints, but there were traces of blood on the floor."

"G's?"

Eric cleared his throat. "Same blood type, but they're not confirming anything don't know yet, although the blood type matches."

"Anything from the phone?"

"Sorry, Sam. Nothing that would lead us to Trask."

Sam switched the channel so that he could look at their prisoner. who was lounging in his chair seemingly without a care in the world. Making up his mind he returned to the interrogation room, switched off the camera and microphone and hauled Mizirov to his feet.

"You're implicated in the kidnapping of a Federal Agent. If he dies you'll be an accessory to murder. That's an automatic death penalty. Tell me where he is and I'll cut you a deal." He tightened his grip.

Mizirov's eyes widened and he began to sweat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam slammed him back against the wall. "My partner's prints were found in your van."

"It was stolen. I reported it to the police. You can't prove I've done anything I had anything to do with it."" His voice had risen to a higher pitch.

"We have evidence to show you moved the van before calling the police." Sam shook him, all the while staring hard at Mizirov.

"That won't get you a conviction." Mizirov tried and failed to sound at him.

"You shot at me. That' will put you inside for a long time." Sam released his grip, drew back his right arm and punched the man in the stomach. Mizirov groaned and doubled over. Sam pulled him upright again. "Where's Callen?"

"I have rights."

Sam punched him again, enjoying the opportunity to inflict pain. "If you ever get to see a lawyer you can complain about the violation of your rights."

The door opened and Deeks walked in. "What the hell is going on, Sam? Hetty's furious that you shut off the equipment. She wants you back at Ops. I'll take over here."

With a glare Sam pushed Mizirov back into his chair. "This is my interrogation."

"You're too close to this case. She's relieved you of duty. I'll look after things here until Renko arrives."

"We'll see about that." Sam got right in Mizirov's face. "Don't get too comfortable." He pulled the door open and stalked out.

"Agent Callen's his partner," Deeks explained while he turned on the surveillance equipment. "He's not going to let this rest and he's looking for someone to blame. I'd be willing to bet that he persuades our boss to put him back on the case. You've got maybe a couple of hours before he comes back."

"I want a lawyer," Mizirov said. "I've been assaulted twice. I need medical attention," Mizirov said, his face ashen. "And I want a lawyer."

"Yeah, well that's not going to happen." Deeks sat down and leaned forward. "We know you're working for Alexander Trask. Tell us where we can find him. You don't want to take the fall for everything."

"I have nothing to say." Mizirov clasped his shaking hands together.

"Then I guess we'll just have to wait for Sam to get back. And, once he's finished with you we'll hand what's left over to Interpol."

For the first time Mizirov started to look worried. "Torture's illegal."

"True, but Sam used to be a SEAL and he doesn't take well to people who threaten a member of his team. He knows how to hurt you in places it wouldn't even show. And he's willing to risk his badge to get his partner back. You need to think about that. If you don't give me something I won't be able to protect you."

"I want immunity."

"Not a chance, but if you help us, and if we find Callen alive, we'll talk to the D.A."

Mizirov licked his lips. "I don't know where he is and I swear I didn't know he was a Federal Agent. All I have is a phone number. One I was told to use it if I needed to disappear. I'll give it to you if you promise to protect me from that psycho."

Deeks considered the offer, watching Mirizov sweat. "Deal."

Deeks slid a pad of paper and a pen across the table. "Write it down. If it checks out I'll guarantee your safety. If it doesn't..." Deeks shrugged, leaving the threat hanging.

A few minutes later herejoined Sam who had been watching on the screen. "Not bad," Sam said with a hint of grudging admiration. "Get the number to Eric."

NCISLA

Miranda Harper's apartment was expensively furnished by someone with impeccable taste. It felt cold and unwelcoming, as if it was more of a status symbol than a home. Kensi sat on the cream leather sofa, her attention fixed on the woman sitting opposite. She knew that Miranda was twenty-nine years old and had dropped out only a few months in college, choosing instead to move to Los Angeles. That had been more than ten years earlier. During those years she had made a name for herself as an elegant, and expensive, escort.

Light brown hair had been dyed to a sun-kissed blonde with gold highlights. Closer inspection revealed fine lines around the eyes, nose and mouth that hadn't quite been hidden by the skillful application of make-up. In a town that prized youth as well as beauty Miranda was living on borrowed time.

Miranda's dress of pale green silk was designed to enhance her cleavage and draw attention to her long tanned legs. Kensi took an instant dislike to her. Miranda, dressed in pale green silk, looked back with polite interest.

"What can you tell me about this man?" Kensi handed over her phone which displayed the photograph of the woman with Alexander Trask.

"I don't discuss my clients," Miranda said. "It's bad for business."

The muscles in Kensi's jaw tightened. Keeping cool and professional had become harder as the hours passed without news of Callen. "He's wanted for kidnapping and murder. That's bad for business."

Miranda's gaze dropped to her perfectly manicured hands. "I don't believe you. He's a rich businessman, fun to spend time with and he treats me well. He can't be a killer."

"Where does he live?"

"He travels a lot. When he's in town he stays at the Casa Del Mar in Santa Monica."

Kensi dialed headquarters. "Eric, send a team to the Casa Del Mar. Trask might be there so they need to be careful."

"Got it," Eric replied.

"What else do you know about him?" Kensi asked.

"He doesn't talk about himself much. Are you sure you haven't mistaken him for someone else?"

"He's an arms dealer who is responsible for the death of at least three people and we believe he is holding one of our operatives."

"This is crazy. He's just a businessman."

"The picture I showed you was taken in San Diego. Why were you there?"

Miranda studied the photograph again. "It was a charity dinner at the Hotel Coronado. We travelled down together and then Alex stayed for a few days on his own. He had some business to take care of."

Kensi felt like slapping the woman's face. How stupid could she be? "His business involved the abduction and murder of a Naval Intelligence Officer."

Miranda no longer looked so self-assured. The color had left her cheeks and the deep red lipstick she was wearing stood out starkly on her face. "He said..." she cleared her throat. "He said he was meeting with someone from the Navy to discuss a new contract."

"Did he tell you anything else?"

"Only that he would be leaving the country soon and didn't know when he would be back."

"How do you contact him?"

"He calls me. You don't seriously think I would be involved in something so horrible?"

"Give me your phone." Kensi held out her hand, ignoring the woman's plea for understanding. She quickly scrolled through the call history. Several calls were from a blocked number. Hopefully Eric would be able to trace it. "What car does he drive? Do you know the license number?"

"He has a driver." Her voice wavered. "I never paid attention. Oh, wait, there was one time he drove himself. It was a black Mercedes but I don't know what model. I'm sorry." Tears spilled over her lower lashes. "I want to help, but I don't know what else I can tell you."

"What car did he use when you went to San Diego?"

"We didn't drive. We flew down in his company jet."

Kensi felt herself go cold. "He has a plane? What kind? Where does he keep it?"

"It's a Lear jet. It only carries six or seven passengers. We flew out of the airport at Long Beach but I don't think that's where he usually keeps it."

This time Kensi made her call directly to Hetty's cell phone. "Trask has a private jet. Hetty, we have to trace it. If he takes Callen out of the country we might never find him."

Tbc

Caroline

October, 2012


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to my betas and to everyone who is following this story.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter Six**

Trask threw his phone across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the ground in pieces. His men watched him warily, none brave enough to speak. He had just learned that two of his people were dead, one was in custody and Sam Hanna was still breathing. He glared at his prisoner who had drifted in and out of consciousness for the last hour. Parading Callen in front of his team had been intended to throw them off-balance and make them vulnerable. They had proved to be more resilient, or lucky, than anticipated.

"Tell the pilot to file a flight plan to Oaxaca," he ordered tersely.

"When do you want to leave, Sir?" Razvan asked.

"As soon as possible." He carried a chair over to Callen, who remained unresponsive. The urge to vent his fury was uncontrollable. "Wake him up."

Viktor grinned before slapping Callen several times on the cheek. At first Callen's head just snapped from side to side in response to the blows. Finally there was a reaction; a groan followed by the flutter of eyelids.

Trask sat down and leaned forward, his hands itching to inflict further pain. For now, though, he needed Callen fit to talk. "Tell me about Zagreb; about the day you killed my brother."

Callen lifted his head and was clearly disoriented. He frowned at Trask before looking around. When his wandering gaze returned to Trask he licked dry lips and gave the slightest shake of his head.

"Let me remind you." Trask's voice was low and venomous. He still felt the pain of his brother's death as sharply as the day the news had reached him. "One of his men betrayed his location to you and your team. Does that sound familiar?"

Callen could barely keep his eyes open. His jaw muscles were tightly clenched against the pain of his injuries.

"Your team stormed the house," Trask continued while his breathing speeded up, "killing everyone who got in the way. You captured Ruslan alive but he was badly wounded. For three days you interrogated him for information about his supplier. When he refused to talk you shot him in the head."

"No," Callen whispered.

For a second Trask began to doubt the truth of the information he had been given. Then he remembered that this man had been an undercover agent for over twenty years. Lying came as easily to him as breathing. He sprang to his feet, pulled out his gun and pointed it at Callen's head. Only rigid self-control stopped him from pulling the trigger. "Do you know what a blood feud is, Agent Callen?"

The only sign of fear was an increase in the speed of the pulse beating at Callen's throat. "Yes."

"When you executed my brother without trial you started a chain of events which will not end until everyone you care about are dead."

"I told you..." Callen's head drooped. "It wasn't me." With an obvious effort he spoke again. "Who gave you my name?"

"A greedy man in Washington." Although Trask felt pure contempt for his informant he knew that the man was a valuable asset. "Do you want to know what that information cost? What price was put on your life?" He waited, staring down at his captive, hoping for a reaction. "I paid one million dollars for your name and would have paid ten times that." He studied his enemy, noting the bruising, the blood seeping through the bandages and the laboured breathing. "Tell me, Agent Callen, how bad is the pain? Is it becoming unbearable? How does it compare to the suffering you caused my brother?"

Razvan approached hesitantly. "We have clearance to leave in an hour. The plane is being fuelled and will be ready for boarding soon."

"Good." Trask took hold of Callen's jaw, forcing his prisoner's head up. "Why won't you admit your guilt?"

"It wouldn't make any difference." Callen could hardly force out the words.

Trask removed the gun's safety, tempted almost beyond endurance to pull the trigger. At the last second he eased the safety catch back into place and used the gun to deliver a vicious blow to Callen's temple.

"Get him ready," he instructed. "We're taking him with us."

NCISLA

Hetty hurried to the Ops centre. "Mr. Beale, you will be receiving a download from Miss Harper's phone. Trace the blocked number. Miss Jones, I have been informed that Alexander Trask has a private jet. Find it."

"Deeks gave us the phone number they got from Mizirov," Eric said. "I got a GPS signal from it for fifteen seconds before it shut off." He looked at Hetty with concern in his eyes.

"Did you get a fix on the location?"

Eric shook his head. "It was south-east of the city. There wasn't time to narrow it down."

Nell sat at her workstation feverishly entering information into the system. "Nothing," she sighed. "No planes are registered to Trask or any of his known companies."

"Try searching for Alexei Tupikov," Hetty said, ignoring the quizzical looks.

"I've got the number," Eric said. "Damn, it's the same one we were given by Mizirov." He swiveled round in his chair. "Why can't we catch a break?"

Hetty clasped her hands behind her back, not wanting them to betray her frustration and anxiety. "We can't give up hope, Mr. Beale, and we certainly can't give up trying."

"We're always one step behind."

"Yes, it does feel like that."

"I've found it," Nell said, excitement coloring her words. "Compton Airport. Oh no. It was cleared for take-off fifteen minutes ago."

"Call air traffic control," Hetty ordered. "If it hasn't left, make sure it's grounded. Mr. Beale, send the information to Mr. Hanna and his team."

Nell dialled the number, spoke rapidly and then became very quiet. "It's too late," she said, tears forming in her eyes. "The listed destination is Oaxaca in the south of Mexico. I'll get word to head of security at the airport to make sure no-one from the plane is allowed to leave."

"Warn them to be very careful. Trask is unlikely to give up without a fight and if he has taken Mr. Callen as a hostage he won't hesitate to threaten his life."

"Hetty," Eric hesitated. "Do you think Callen's still alive?"

She stared straight ahead, not meeting his anxious gaze. "I wish I knew."

NCISLA

Breaching the warehouse had been uneventful, although they had taken no chances in case Trask has left men behind to cover his escape. They split into two teams to search the building but first indications were that it was empty.

Kensi and Deeks took the rear, leaving Sam and Renko to check out the main area. Renko hunkered down to look at the floor near door. "Tire tracks. Looks like three vehicles were parked here."

Sam walked further into the building. "There are boot prints too. Someone was here recently." At a metal table he ran a finger across the surface. "Gun oil. Damn, G. Where are you?" Something across the room caught his eye. He picked up the pieces of a phone and held them up for Renko to see. "Guess that explains why Eric lost the signal."

"Sam, you need to see this." Kensi's voice shook.

He took off across the room and found Kensi and Deeks standing in a doorway. They moved aside so that he could see inside and his gut tied itself into a knot. After pulling on a pair of gloves he walked slowly inside, unable to take his eyes off the blood stained mattress lying in a corner of the room.

Kensi touched him on the arm before reaching down to pick up some grey material. "That's the same color t-shirt Callen was wearing in the video," she said with fear in her voice. "It looks like he was shot." She held it up to show the ragged hole near the left shoulder. "It wouldn't have been fatal, Sam."

"If Trask had killed him, he'd have left the body for us to find," Deeks added. "And it wouldn't make sense given that Callen's worth a lot to him. You heard what he said about an auction. He must have figured that we were getting too close and didn't want to risk losing out on his payday."

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to look around. He noted the chain and then the camera. "They were keeping an eye on him. See if you can find out where."

"I'll go," Renko said.

"We should tell Hetty," Kensi said.

"Not yet. Not until we're sure."

Renko returned a couple of minutes later carrying a laptop. "This was hooked up in a room down the hallway."

"He wanted us to find it," Sam said. He lifted the lid and then hesitated. What if it was booby-trapped? He drew in a shaky breath and switched it on.

Kensi looked over his shoulder. "There's a video file. Do you think…?" She couldn't finish her question, terrified that they were about to see Callen's execution.

"Only one way to find out." Sam opened the file. They watched in silence Callen's unsuccessful escape attempt which culminated with him being shot. The scene shifted to show him being subdued so that the wound could be treated. The last view they had of him was when he was pressed face down onto the mattress, his arms wrenched behind his back and cuffed.

"They kept him alive," Kensi said. "That's got to be good news. And we know where Trask is headed. The Federal Police will be waiting when he lands."

"We won't be there," Sam replied. "You saw how badly G was hurt. Trask will use him as leverage to escape and we won't be there to protect him." He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to rid his mind of a picture of G dying alone and far from home.

NCISLA

"It's been four days, Hetty."

"We are doing all we can, Mr. Hanna." Her tone was sympathetic. Although they were all feeling the strain of recent events, Sam was tearing himself up with guilt. Nobody had been able to persuade him that this wasn't his fault.

"It's not enough. He could be anywhere. We should have known that Trask would have a network of informants. How else could a plane drop off the radar? We don't know where it landed or where they went after that. If Callen's still alive he's running out of time. All the other victims were dead within a week."

She saw the horror in his eyes and knew he was thinking about the brutal killings of the other operatives. "This is different. We have every reason to believe that Mr. Callen is still being held by Alexander Trask."

"Why are you so sure? What do you know that you're not telling us?"

"I told you before that there are aspects to this investigation that are classified."

"Trask could be torturing him. You saw the brutality he'd already suffered." Sam's voice had risen to a shout. "He could be dead. How can you sit there and calmly tell me it's classified?"

"I'm as worried about him as you are, but sharing my information won't get us any closer to finding him."

"This isn't right. We should be out looking for him."

"We have no idea where to start. There is a plane on standby at LAX. You and your team will be off the ground an hour after we get a lead."

Hetty's phone rang. "Yes?" She listened quietly for a moment then motioned for Sam to sit down and wait. "Are you sure?" She looked up, saw Kensi and Deeks watching her and waved them over. "Thank you, Leon. I will call you as soon as we have news."

She smiled for the first time in days. "We have a location. Get to the airport. Agent Renko will meet you there and we will brief you once you are in the air. Good luck."

Tbc

Caroline

October 2012


	7. Chapter 7

It had been my intention to bring this story to a speedy conclusion until I realized that there are a lot of issues to be resolved. Hopefully you like angst and h/c because I am going to indulge my passion for both Thanks to my betas.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter Seven**

The sun had beaten down on them unmercifully all afternoon. The intensity began to lessen as it slipped toward the horizon without making any noticeable difference to the humidity. They were all bathed in sweat, heightened by nervous anticipation. The life of their friend depended upon the success of a dangerous rescue mission.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Sam stared hard at Deeks. The question had worried him ever since they left LA.

Deeks finished fastening his vest before returning Sam's look with one of equal force. "I won't let you down."

"You're not trained for an operation like this."

"I'm part of this team whether you like it or not and I've been in enough fights to know how to handle myself. You'll just have to trust me to follow your lead because there's nothing you can say that would make me sit this out. SEALs aren't the only ones who won't leave a team member behind."

Sam nodded, impressed by the loyalty and passion. Deeks could have turned this operation down but he hadn't hesitated to come with them. "Alright. You stick with me. Renko and Kensi will partner up. It'll be dark soon. Be ready."

He returned to their van and unrolled the plan of Trask's compound. The main building was an old adobe hacienda which had been renovated and extended several times. It sat half a mile from the road surrounded by a ten foot high wall topped with razor wire. The main gate was remotely operated and guarded by security cameras. Satellite photographs had shown that there was a smaller gate at the side, also under surveillance, and that had been chosen as the only viable entry point. The electricity was supplied by a small power station a couple of miles away. Sam had spent part of the afternoon setting an explosive charge on a timer. They had no idea how many men they would be facing so speed and surprise were vital.

Sam checked his semi-automatic rifle, spare ammunition clips and night vision goggles. Then he looked round at his team. They were all dressed in black combat gear and were performing their own final pre-mission checks. "Time to move out."

They covered the distance at a steady pace, arriving at their destination exactly on schedule. Sam checked his watch. Five minutes later every light in the compound went out. Renko quickly attached C4 to the gate and fired the detonators. The gate collapsed inwards.

Wearing their night vision goggles gave them the edge. Sam moved in first, followed by Deeks. They ran toward the front of the house. He knew that Renko and Kensi would be moving in the opposite direction. There was the sound of gunfire and flashes lighting the night to show the location of the gunmen. Sam and Deeks dropped to the ground and crawled behind a boulder before returning fire. Shouts turned to screams as they picked off their targets, gradually working closer and closer to the house. They were still twenty feet away when the power came back on.

"Crap," Deeks snapped. "They must have a backup generator." He pulled off his goggles to avoid being blinded.

The shooting had become sporadic. Sam laid down cover fire so that Deeks could reach the building. Two of Trask's men had been cut down on their way out of the front door. Sam spared them only a cursory glance before running to join Deeks. They pressed their backs against the wall, taking a minute to catch their breath. Sam indicated that he was going in low and to the left. Deeks nodded to show he understood.

They entered the building and immediately had to take cover from gunmen shooting from the upper floor. Sam took aim, fired and had the satisfaction of watching one of the men toppling over the railing and landing on the floor of the entrance hall. Blood spread quickly over the tiles. The second man moved to the top of the staircase. Deeks fired twice and the man dropped his gun before tumbling down the stairs.

There was silence. Sam stood up and looked around. "Clear," he said.

"Clear."

They made their way cautiously through the house meeting no resistance until Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and fired. His target slid to the ground, wounded but alive. Sam smiled grimly when recognized Alexander Trask. The bullet was embedded in the right side of Trask's chest. With quick medical attention the injury didn't have to be fatal, although Sam was in no hurry to take any steps to alleviate the pain. The memory of watching Callen's rough handling after his shooting was too raw to allow him to feel any shred of concern.

"You shouldn't have left that video for us to find," Sam said.

"It was all part of the game, Agent Hanna." Trask's fingers were still curled loosely around the handle of his gun. "I expected you to find me before now." Even though his voice was tight with pain he still managed to give the impression that he was the one in charge. "Of course, you were meant to die during your futile rescue attempt. Unfortunately it seems I underestimated you and your colleagues."

"Where is he?" Sam's finger tightened on the trigger. Only the knowledge that he needed his question answered keeping him from blowing the sneer from Trask's face.

"Dead," Trask replied with cold finality in his voice.

"You're lying."

"How well do you know his history, Agent Hanna?" Trask closed his eyes momentarily, gathering his strength. "Deserted by his parents when he was a small child then moved from place to place, never really belonging anywhere. He died as he lived… alone, believing he had been abandoned again. Your refusal to believe me doesn't change anything."

"You son of a bitch." Deeks growled and took a step closer to Trask.

"Keep your distance," Sam warned. "He's baiting us."

"Am I? I'd tell you where to find his body but I told my men to leave it for the animals."

Sam heard a shocked gasp behind him which alerted him to Kensi's presence. He assumed Renko was with her although he couldn't risk taking his attention away from Trask. He put out his arm to stop Deeks from getting any closer, hoping that Renko would be doing the same to keep Kensi out of harms way. Trask was trying to lure them closer so that he could try to use one of them as a shield.

Keeping a rein on his temper was hard when all he wanted was to rip the bastard's heart out. "You're not walking out of here a free man so lying isn't going to do you any good. Your best hope is to cooperate."

Trask's laugh quickly changed to a cough which caused him to double over and clutch his chest. Sam watched him warily, noting that he still kept hold of his gun.

"You're a fool," Trask gasped when he brought himself back under control.

Sam had taken enough. If Trask wasn't going to give them any useful information they needed to secure him and start searching for Callen. "Drop your weapon," he ordered.

"I don't think so." Trask started to raise his semi-automatic and four guns fired at once. He jerked backward as his blood sprayed over the white wall.

Silence settled over the room. Sam kicked the gun away, checked for a pulse and then straightened, shaking his head. "Find out if any of his men are still alive," he ordered. "I don't care what you have to do. Make them talk."

"My pleasure," Renko said.

Sam looked down at Trask's body, feeling suddenly very weary. "G would never believe that we'd leave him," he said, hoping that he was right.

"Sam, I've got something," Renko called.

They headed to the entrance hall. The man Deeks had shot was only semi-conscious but Sam hauled him up and pinned him to the wall. "Where's Callen?" he growled.

The man squinted at him and decided that talking was his best option. "Outside. Storage building," he stammered.

"Is he alive?"

Their prisoner licked his lips nervously. "I don't know."

Sam let go and the man slumped back to the ground. "I'm going alone." He held up a hand to stop their protests. "Check every inch of the house and secure the perimeter. Make sure we didn't miss anyone." The look he shared with Renko reassured him that the experienced agent understood his concerns.

"I'll take the outside," Renko said. "Kensi, you and Deeks do a thorough sweep of the house."

Sam nodded his thanks and headed quickly to the front door. He knew that Callen, if he was still alive, was going to be in a bad way and he wanted to give his partner what dignity he could in such a situation. If Trask had told the truth and they were too late, he wanted to deal with that on his own.

The windowless adobe building sat within sight of the main house. It was no more than twelve feet square and was either a prison or a tomb. The sturdy wooden door was secured with a heavy-duty padlock. Sam pulled out his lock pick, his hands steadier than his heartbeat. The tumblers clicked, he threw the padlock to the ground, drew his gun and turned the handle. Trask has played them all along and he couldn't afford to take any chances on the building being booby-trapped.

Standing to one side of the door, Sam pushed it open. There was no sound, but an overwhelming stench emanated from the building. He'd participated in enough rescue missions in areas of the world where human dignity meant nothing to recognize the significance. Callen had been held without even basic sanitation and had been left to die in the most inhuman of conditions.

Sam pulled out his flashlight, took a deep breath of fresh air and stepped inside. The floor was nothing more than hard packed earth and the building was empty except for a huddled form in the far corner. The light illuminated the prisoner's bare back, displaying scars that Sam knew well. There were also a myriad of cuts, welts and bruises the sight of which nearly broke his heart. Callen didn't move; there was nothing to show that he was still alive.

"G?" Sam called, hurrying to his partner's side. He kept the light away from Callen's face, knowing from experience how sensitive eyes could be after prolonged captivity in darkness. He hunkered down, laying a hand on Callen's arm. The skin was hot and dry, evidence that Callen was still alive. Some of the tension left Sam's shoulders.

"No...no more!" The weak protest was accompanied by Callen flinching away from Sam's touch to curl into an even tighter ball.

"G, it's Sam. It's over. We're here to take you home," he assured with a warm soothing tone.

Chains tethered Callen's wrists and ankles, allowing only limited movement. They chimed softly in response to a slight movement. Sam waited, hesitant to touch his partner again. Instead he used his voice as an anchor. "Trask and most of his men are dead. We have one in custody. Kensi, Deeks and Renko are with me. We're in southern Mexico with official sanction for the operation. There's a chopper on standby to get us out of here."

"Sam?" Callen's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Yeah. You didn't think I'd leave you here?" He silently cursed Trask when he received no response. Physically and mentally it appeared Callen had retreated to a dark place where he had isolated himself. It was a coping mechanism which Sam had seen before in hostage situations, particularly where the prisoner had been subjected to torture. Bringing Callen back from the edge of hopelessness wouldn't be an easy task. "You'll feel better once we get you out of here. Can you walk?"

"Think so." Callen was gradually relaxing from his cramped position on the floor, but still hadn't turned his head.

"I'll help you." Sam put one arm around Callen's waist and helped him to sit up, alert to the subtle tension evoked by the physical contact. "You're one sorry mess, G. What did that bastard do to you?"

Callen finally looked up. His eyes were dull, the skin around them bruised with exhaustion. Fever spots marred his cheeks and stood out starkly against his pallor. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled.

"Like hell it doesn't." Sam tightened his hold, needing his partner to understand that he wasn't alone any longer.

"Don't…" Callen tried unsuccessfully to free himself, his breathing becoming erratic.

Sam relaxed his grip, retaining only enough pressure to keep Callen from slumping over again. "It's okay, G. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." He made a visible effort to calm down.

"I'm going to help you to stand," Sam said. "If you need me to back off I will."

"Okay. Sorry." Callen turned his head away again, unable to make eye contact.

Sam eased Callen to his feet, noticing immediately that his partner avoided taking too much weight on his left leg. It was also clear that Callen had lost a significant amount of weight during his captivity and Sam wondered just how long G had been in Trask's hands. They had no idea what had happened after Callen went under cover over two weeks previously. "Just a few steps and we'll be outside."

The journey to the door was slow, hampered by the chains and Callen's frailty. Sam gave as much support as he could without spooking his partner again. "It isn't far to the house," he said encouragingly. A slight nod was his only acknowledgment.

They stepped outside. Callen stumbled, gave a choked gasp, and closed his eyes. "Stop," he whispered before his knees buckled.

Tbc

Caroline

October 2012


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to my betas and to everyone who continues to follow this story. It is time to get Callen home and deal with the repercussions from his abduction.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter 8**

Sam lowered his partner to a sitting position leaning against the wall. He got his first clear look at Callen whose skin was streaked with blood and dirt, and wished that Trask was still alive so that he could kill him slowly and painfully. He gently pulled aside the filthy bandage covering his friend's shoulder. Callen flinched and bit his bottom lip.

"How bad?" Callen looked up at him through half-open lids.

Yellow pus seeped from the partially healed bullet wound. "You'll live." Sam kept his tone deliberately light to hide his raw emotions. He set to work unlocking the shackles, his jaw tightening when he saw the deep bruising and abrasions around G's wrists. Seeing that Callen was beginning to lean to one side he sat down beside his partner, offering his shoulder as support. He heaved a soft sigh of relief when the offer was accepted, although he could feel tremors shaking Callen's body.

"You okay, Sam?"

"I'm fine, and once we get you to a hospital you'll be fine too," Sam stated with certainty. He wasn't ready to consider any other outcome.

"How long was I here?" Callen asked hesitantly.

"Five days. I'm sorry, G. We should have found you sooner."

"Thought it was longer. It felt longer." Callen coughed to clear his throat. "Water?"

Sam swung his backpack to the ground and pulled out a bottle. He put it in Callen's hand and then steadied it so that his partner could drink. After a few sips G turned his face away.

"When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?"

Callen's brow creased in thought. "Before…before Trask shot me."

Sam's gut started to hurt. His failure to hunt down Trask had condemned Callen to unimaginable hardships. "Trask left us a video. You didn't make it easy for that bastard even after he shot you."

"I couldn't hold on any longer." Callen paused to take a few shallow breaths. "Don't tell Hetty," he begged. "Thought I was going to die here."

"I won't tell anyone." Sam looked toward the house. He was going to need help to get Callen there without hurting him further. "We need to organize an evacuation. I can give you something for the pain, or a sedative," he offered.

"Hate needles."

"I know, but you need to rest."

"Don't make me sleep." Callen turned to look at him, fear in his eyes.

Sam understood that feeling of vulnerability. When in hostile territory your life depended on staying alert. "You're not on your own now and Trask's dead. We'll take care of you." He rested a hand briefly on Callen's forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his body. "You're burning up. You need to trust me to look after you." He knew he was asking a lot. Even with the resources of NCIS he'd been unable to find Callen in time to save him from Trask's cruelty. That stirred another thought. "Why didn't he sell you? It's what he did to all the others."

"Guess I must have pissed him off enough that he wanted to kill me himself."

"Yeah, you can have that effect on people." It heartened Sam to see the ghost of a smile cross Callen's lips. "But, why did he go to all the trouble of smuggling you out of the country? He took a hell of a risk."

"Maybe he thought having a live hostage was worth it."

Sam could sense an evasion. "What aren't you telling me?"

Callen's shivering had increased. "Don't feel good, Sam. Why's it so cold?"

He abandoned his interrogation. There would be time enough later to pry information out of Callen. "It's alright, partner. We'll get medical help in here soon. Just hold on a little while longer." He heard the sound of voices and was happy to see the rest of the team running toward them. G shuddered and tensed up again, huddling closer to the wall.

Sam shook his head, silently warning the others to keep their distance. "Call Hetty," he said. "Get that medevac chopper in here now."

Deeks pulled out the satellite phone. "On it."

"How is he?" Kensi asked.

Callen raised his head squinting in her direction. "Kenz?"

"Hey, Callen. You had us worried."

"Yeah."

A soft sigh was the only warning Sam had before his partner passed out. Renko hurried over to help him carry Callen into the house to wait for the helicopter.

NCISLA

It was the cold that woke him. Callen turned onto his side drawing his legs up to try to preserve body heat. It was then that he realized he was no longer lying on the hard floor. Something soft shifted beneath him to accommodate the change in position. The constant pressure of the shackles had disappeared allowing him to move freely for the first time in days. His questing fingers latched around a blanket which he pulled up over his bare chest and shoulders, burrowing deeper into his comfortable nest.

The sound of voices drawing closer kept him from sinking back into an uneasy sleep. He tensed, anticipating Trask's taunts and the accompanying excruciating pain. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn't been in agony. He was desperate enough now to goad Trask into shooting him. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry, and saw the shape of a man bending down toward him. A feeling of panic constricted his chest when he saw what the man was holding. A hypodermic needle was headed for his arm.

"Leave me alone." He didn't have the strength to shout but he forced his arm to move. He struck out feebly, over reached and felt himself falling. He hit the floor and lay there in a daze with his eyes tightly closed. He felt desperately sick. Knowing that he was helpless to avoid what was coming was almost worse than the pain. The loss of control brought on by the hallucinogenic drugs they used on him was unbearable.

Someone lifted him and laid him back on the cushions, the touch gentle. With a sharp prick the needle entered his arm. His heart rate spiked and he struggled to take a breath.

"Calm down, G."

Hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to lie still while the words penetrated the fog surrounding his brain. Only a handful of people called him G and all were his friends. Flashes of memory stirred. Trask had lied. His team hadn't deserted him. Sam had come and taken him out of his prison. He was afraid to open his eyes in case it was all in his imagination. He wasn't sure he could survive the sight of Trask gloating.

"Look at me."

It was Sam's voice, gently insistent. Callen tried to still a particularly powerful bout of shaking. Whatever he had been given was causing tense muscles to relax and producing an almost euphoric feeling. It was nothing like the nightmares which usually followed an injection. Those had always left him shaking, crying and lying in his own filth while Trask and his men laughed.

He had to get this over with. He wasn't a coward and, if he had dreamt his rescue he would have to face that disappointment. He opened his eyes and saw a huge smile spread over Sam's face.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Sam asked, relaxing his grip. "The doctor's given you a shot for the pain and to fight the infection. You're dehydrated and suffering from a high fever so he needs to set up a drip. Don't fight him."

"I want to go home, Sam."

"We're working on it. They won't move you until they're sure you are stable."

"Please."

"You nearly died, G. We didn't come all this way to have you check out on us now." A smile softened the impact of the words.

"Do what you need to do," he whispered.

The doctor appeared to be in his mid-forties. He had close-cropped hair and the look of a man who had practised combat medicine. "Mr. Callen. I'm sorry if I startled you. I'm Captain Dalton. There's a helicopter waiting to take you to The Naval Medical Center in San Diego. Your superiors decided that you should be treated in a secure location in case any of Trask's men are still at large. Just relax and let me do my job."

Callen nodded and tried to quell the impulse to flinch every time the doctor touched him. The doctor set the drip up quickly and efficiently. When Dalton moved on to examine his shoulder he couldn't hold back a whimper which quickly climbed to a scream as the doctor probed the wound. It took him back to the day in the warehouse in LA when they pinned him down and left him powerless to escape.

"Make him stop, Sam! Feel sick."

"Shit." Sam grabbed a bowl from a nearby table and held it for Callen.

His stomach rebelled, forcing bile into his throat. He retched and heaved, cold sweat bathing his body. He clung to Sam's arm, trembling, coughing and trying to expel the foul taste from his mouth. When he finally collapsed back he was too shaken to speak.

"I'm going to have to sedate you," the doctor told him. "Your body can't take much more trauma."

Callen swallowed convulsively and his gaze wandered. There was a stretcher equipped with restraining straps lying beside the sofa. Trask had ordered him secured to a stretcher to move him from the warehouse to the plane. He remembered trying to alert the ground crew to his plight and the feeling of sick horror when the door closed and the plane began to taxi along the runway.

"Can't…can't do it." He looked pleadingly at Sam.

"It'll be alright. I'm coming with you in the chopper. We'll look after you. Trust us."

The doctor administered the sedative before he could call up enough energy to resist. "Don't trust..." he began before losing his train of thought and his grip on consciousness.

**Ten days later.**

Hetty stood in the doorway of Callen's hospital room, watching her Senior Agent finish packing his bag. He still moved stiffly, his left knee immobilized in a brace and his left arm cradled in a sling. She knew that his injuries went deeper than physical discomfort. Sam had confided his fears about Callen's state of mind. She had heard from other sources that he had tried to fight the doctor, terrified of being touched and refusing to be sedated. Only Sam had been able to exert some measure of control. Callen's irrational behaviour had been caused in part by the high fever. The concern of the doctors though was that much of the problem stemmed from the extreme stress of his captivity and a natural reaction to his torture.

She knew the minute he realized she was there. His head came up and there was a new tension in his shoulders.

"I was expecting Sam," he said without turning round.

"I pulled rank." Hetty walked into the room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Callen."

He turned slowly, blue eyes boring into her. "You didn't visit."

She had sent him on a suicide mission without warning him or providing backup. His death would have been on her conscience and his suffering was her fault. "No. I didn't think my presence would aid your recovery."

Callen considered that. "Hetty," he said reprovingly. "It's not like you to make excuses." He limped over to the bed and perched on the edge. "Did you catch him?"

"Ah." Hetty wasn't surprised that he had reached the correct conclusion. "When did you realize we had a traitor?"

"Trask made no secret of it. He told me it was someone in Washington although he never gave me a name. I didn't know I'd been set up until he accused me of killing his brother." He waited patiently.

"Alexei Tupikov, the man you know as Alexander Trask, was a serious threat to international security. He was also clever, but he had one weakness. He wanted revenge on the inter Agency team responsible for his brother's death. Director Vance put the pieces together after the third killing. The leak could only have come from someone with the highest security clearance."

"Why involve NCIS?"

"We needed someone with a credible background and an Agency that hadn't been compromised. Ruslan Tupikov was in the drug trade in Eastern Europe. You worked for the DEA with a particular specialty in operations in that part of the world." She could have added that he was one of their best operatives but she wasn't yet sure if he would see that as a blessing or a curse.

"So you falsified my file in the hope it would fall into Trask's hands."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He was trying hard to keep the emotion out of his voice, but Hetty knew him too well to be fooled. "Director Vance insisted on keeping the operation between him and me so that there could be no doubt about who was selling out to Trask."

Callen looked away. "Sam was the target."

Hetty frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Trask wanted me to suffer by killing someone important to me." His tone was accusatory. He might accept the risk to his own life, but not to that of his partner. "That was one of the reasons he didn't put a bullet in my brain. He tried to convince me that Sam was dead."

"You never believed him?" she asked, gently.

Callen glanced up, a hard look creeping into his eyes. "Even if I had, I wouldn't have given him the satisfaction of telling him."

She chose her next words carefully because this was the crux of her dilemma. "He told Agent Hanna that you had given up hope of being rescued. You know how guilty Sam feels about what happened to you."

Callen's expression softened. "Don't you think I'm a little old to be having abandonment issues, Hetty?" he asked. "When Sam found me I had a temperature of over a hundred and I honestly don't remember much of what he said. I knew that none of you would give up on me, but sometimes an operation goes wrong and rescue doesn't come in time."

It was a text-book response and she didn't believe that he was being entirely honest with her. "You said Sam was one of the reasons he kept you alive. What was the other?" She saw his mouth set in a stubborn line and wondered if he would refuse to answer.

"Haven't I been through enough of an interrogation?" he asked bitterly. "I just want to get out of here."

"Humour me, Mr. Callen."

He licked his lips and looked away. "He wanted me to confess to killing his brother. Every day he questioned me for hours about his brother's death. When he finished they tossed me back inside that stinking building again."

Hetty, unknown to Callen, had spent hours at the hospital in the early days after his rescue while he was still heavily sedated. She had seen for herself evidence of vicious beatings, and the many cuts that marred his body. She had also been given the results of the toxicology tests and had a good idea of the damage the drugs would have done to his body and his mind. She could have cried at the matter of fact way he glossed over the torture that had come close to breaking him, but could never let him know how much it affected her. "Have you told the rest of your team about the deception?"

"I thought about it, but I didn't think they'd understand."

"Do you understand, Mr. Callen?"

"I'm trying." He stood up and collected his bag. "You didn't answer my question."

"We caught him, thanks to you."

"What really happened to Trask's brother?"

"He was caught, interrogated, and died in somewhat mysterious circumstances. The team insisted he was killed while trying to escape, but there are inconsistencies in their evidence."

"So Trask had reason to seek revenge," Callen said thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

He stared at her without providing a hint of how he was feeling and she regretted what she had to say next. "The doctors have recommended that we put your operational status under review."

"You ask me to forgive you and then tell me that? I won't sit on the sidelines," he warned. "Once my injuries heal I will get back to full duties. Five bullets weren't enough to keep me down and neither is this."

"I'm hope you're right Mr. Callen."

For the first time in all the years she had known him he looked at her as if she was his enemy. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating me, Hetty. I'd like to think I could rely on you to stand up for me, but right now I'm having a hard time trusting you."

"That is the problem."

"Then it's your problem." He limped toward her. "I'll find my own way home."

She considered him sombrely and stepped aside.

Tbc

Caroline

October 2012


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I have no medical training or direct experience of PTSD so any mistakes from this point on are inadvertent and not in any way intended to diminish the seriousness of the condition.

Thanks to my betas and to everyone who is reading, reviewing etc. To those guests who review I am sorry that I cannot thank you privately for your comments and encouragement.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter 9**

Sam tracked Hetty down to the armory where she was stripping and cleaning her SIG. "He's avoiding me," he said.

Hetty pushed a brush through the barrel, concentrating on the task. "You're not alone, Mr. Hanna. He's avoiding all of us." After attaching the accessory tip to the cleaning rod she ran the solvent soaked pad up and down the barrel twice before laying everything down and finally looking up at him.

Sam frowned. "He never answers his phone. I've left a dozen messages which he doesn't return. I go to his house and he isn't there. If I didn't know better I'd say he'd moved out."

"He has, temporarily I hope. He's drifting again which is extremely worrying. It took years to persuade him to lay down roots."

"Why's he doing this, Hetty?" Sam, still consumed by guilt, was bewildered by his partner's actions. "Does he blame us for not finding him sooner?"

"I don't think it's that simple. I'm afraid I mishandled things the day he was discharged from the hospital."

"What can we do about it?"

"I'm not sure, Sam. Trust has always been an issue for him. The events surrounding his abduction did a great deal of harm. He resents the suspension of his undercover status but, until we can be sure that he is mentally stable, I can't allow him to return to operational duties. He has been cleared to return in a limited capacity now that his physical injuries have healed. He's due back tomorrow. Your time would be well spent finding him and making sure that he reports for duty. I am very afraid that he might walk away from all of us."

"I don't think he's going to listen to me." Sam picked up the slide latch of the pistol, turning it over and over in his hand without focussing on it.

"You're the only person that he will listen to."

Sam heard the sadness in her voice and frowned. "What happened, Hetty? He's always been loyal to you and he trusted you more than anyone else. All along you've kept secrets and I'm damn sure he was hiding things from me while he was in hospital. Whatever happened between you is eating him up inside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hanna. There are some things that I can't discuss."

Sam shook his head in frustration. "Are you sorry or is that just another excuse?" He dropped the slide back onto the work bench. "I'll bring him in, but you need to find a way to make this right."

NCISLA

The boardwalk at Venice beach was never deserted. Roller bladders and skateboarders shared the space with joggers and people walking their dogs. Callen ran among them, just another anonymous face in the crowd. The freedom was exhilarating, particularly after weeks of physical therapy. Cool air brushed against sweat soaked skin sending a pleasurable chill down his spine.

Although he was instinctively aware of his surroundings his thoughts were introspective. Memories of his captivity still surfaced at frequent intervals to consume his mind during the day and disturb his sleep at night. The doctors had put a label on his condition – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They wanted him to take tablets and talk about what had happened. His refusal had nothing to do with stubbornness or an unwillingness to coöperate, although that was how it was viewed. He had never been comfortable talking about his feelings, preferring to work through issues on his own. In recent years he had begun to let his guard down around Sam and Hetty, opening up more than ever before. That safety net was now denied to him.

He had made a conscious decision to protect Sam from the knowledge that Hetty had been prepared to sacrifice one agent's life in the hope of catching a traitor. Professionally he understood her actions. Having been discarded so often as a child, he was having a hard time rationalizing it on a personal level. He admired Hetty, accepting her as family and would do anything to keep her safe. It hurt knowing she wasn't wouldn't do the same for him.

Many hours of solitary contemplation had brought him closer to understanding Trask. He knew how he would feel if someone captured and executed a member of his team. He would want revenge, although he couldn't imagine subjecting anyone to the torture he had suffered. He slammed the door on that line of thought. He'd been shot before, faced danger on a daily basis and had come close to death more than once. It wasn't the first time he'd been taken prisoner either. What made this harder to handle than anything in his past? He was no closer to answering that question.

He was nearing the end of his five-mile run and checked his watch. It was seven-thirty and time to return to the rooming house for a shower if he was going to get to work on time. He slowed to walking pace, pleased that his knee had withstood the exercise without any trouble. His heart rate was elevated and his stamina still wasn't as good as it should be, but he could now accelerate his training schedule.

His mood darkened again. His physical wounds might have healed but psychologically he was still compromised. The prospect of returning to the well-meaning concern of his colleagues, and facing Hetty, was proving to be far more of a hurdle than he had expected. Maybe it was time for him to move on again.

There was a sudden noise behind him. His muscles involuntarily tensed up and stayed that way until a skateboarder rolled past. He concentrated on taking deep breaths to slow the speed of his breathing back to a normal level. He clenched his fists, fighting the frustration. There was no chance of being allowed to return to operational status until he could control his reactions to normal events.

"You're going to be late."

He turned slowly toward the road. Sam was leaning against his car, arms crossed and a wary look on his face.

"How did you find me?" He hoped that Sam would attribute his sweat to the exertion of the run.

"It wasn't easy. Want to tell me why you went off the grid?"

"I needed time to figure things out," he answered defensively.

"It didn't occur to you that we might be worried?" Sam's voice rose in volume with an edge to it that Callen wasn't used to hearing from his partner.

"I'm a big boy, Sam. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, right. The last time you went off the reservation without me you ended up in Mexico more dead than alive."

Callen looked away and shook his head. His stomach was churning and he didn't want Sam to see the sick look on his face.

"Get in the car, G. You can get cleaned up at the office."

"I don't need a babysitter," he snapped, his temper rising. He'd always been slow to anger which was an advantage for any undercover operative. Since his rescue, though, he had found that the slightest thing made him irritable. It was another symptom that he found challenging and was one of the reasons he'd been avoiding Sam.

"I know but I've missed working with my partner and thought you might like a ride to work today." The aggression drained out of Sam and his tone became more conciliatory.

"I'm not your partner. Not until Hetty lets me off the leash again." Callen regretted his words the minute he said them. Sam hadn't been quite quick enough to hide a hurt look.

"That's why you need to come back to work. Show her you can handle it. Even if you're stuck in the office you're still an asset."

Callen couldn't miss the pleading note in Sam's voice and his self-loathing increased. He knew he wasn't being fair to his friend. Sam and the rest of his team had risked their lives to find him. He owed them more than he'd been ready to give during his recovery. He drew in a shaky breath. "Alright."

NCISLA

Callen sat at his desk staring at the blank screen on his laptop. He should be working on his report. Even though his debrief had been deferred due to his injuries, it would only be a matter of time before he would be forced to relive every minute of the operation. His in-tray was full of reports prepared by his team during his absence. They awaited his review and approval. A cursory glance showed that none of them related to his rescue. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. There were things he wanted to know but he was reluctant to ask the questions and leave himself in danger of breaking down again in front of witnesses.

His brooding was disturbed by Kensi walking into the bull pen. She stopped when she saw him. Although she didn't offer a hug she did have an enormous smile on her face. It bothered him that she felt the need to be careful because of the weakness he had displayed immediately following his rescue. He pushed to his feet and opened his arms to her. Hopefully she wouldn't guess how difficult that simple gesture was for him. In three quick steps she had covered the distance and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"We've missed you," she whispered.

"I owe you," he said, stepping back. "I should have called. I'm sorry."

"Having you back is all that matters."

He heard the sincerity in her voice and began to relax. "I hope you've kept out of trouble while I've been away."

"Well, it's been pretty much a full-time job trying to train Deeks," she said with a smile. "We're planning to enrol him in obedience classes."

"I heard that." Deeks strolled in and dropped his bag on the desk. "Welcome back, Callen." He offered his hand before warning, "I'm not into man hugs."

"You both risked your lives to come and find me. I won't forget that."

"Self preservation," Deeks said. "Sam's next in line to head up the team and he's mean."

"He's only mean to you and it's usually because you've done something to provoke him," Kensi responded.

"I can't help it if he feels intimidated by my good looks and charm." Deeks looked around. "Where is Sam anyway?"

"In Ops." Callen felt an unaccustomed twinge of jealousy. His team was carrying on as normal without him, and it left him feeling at a loss. He stifled those thoughts and returned to his chair. "What are you working on?"

Deeks wandered over to the coffee machine. "Nothing interesting. There's been some talk about a private contractor who might be paying bribes to secure military contracts. We don't have enough information to justify mounting an operation yet."

"Mostly we're just following tips which don't seem to be going anywhere," Kensi added.

"We haven't had a decent undercover operation in weeks."

"Have you seen Hetty?" Deeks asked.

Callen bowed his head to hide his face. "Not yet."

"She's been acting weird." Deeks dropped into his chair.

"What?"

"It's hard to explain. She's really quiet and preoccupied. Mostly she leaves the briefings up to Eric and Nell and only really talks to Sam."

"Hetty took it hard when you disappeared," Kensi added. "I think she was worried that she might have lost another agent."

Callen scowled in response. "She should have thought of that before sending me on that operation."

"What does that mean?" Deeks asked.

"Nothing." His breathing was becoming shallow again and, once more, he had spoken without thinking.

Kensi and Deeks shared a look of concern which he chose to ignore. He wished that Sam would come back. He hit a key on his computer to open a new document, hoping to discourage his colleagues from further discussion.

"I didn't know the Director was here," Deeks said.

Callen stood up and turned. Vance, Hetty and Sam were walking down the stairs from Ops and all were staring in his direction. He looked at Sam, his eyebrow raised in silent enquiry. Sam quickly broke eye contact. He turned his attention to Hetty. She met his gaze steadily but then she had always been an elite operative who was adept at hiding her thoughts.

"Agent Callen," Vance called. "It's good to see you."

"Director."

"I decided to come and debrief you myself," Vance continued. "I'm sure you have some questions and Hetty felt I would be the best person to answer them."

"Did she?" He wasn't sure if this was just an excuse for her to avoid him. "I don't appreciate being discussed behind my back." He folded his arms and stared at Vance with open challenge.

Vance wasn't a man who was easily intimidated. "It would be better if we continued this discussion in private, Agent Callen."

"Better for who?"

Vance reached the bottom of the staircase and evaded the question. "I'm sure Henrietta will allow us to use her office." He turned his attention to Kensi and Deeks. "You have a new assignment. Agent Hanna will brief you."

Callen's jaw clenched while he contemplated disobeying an order from his Director. He felt like he was being manipulated again and he didn't like it.

"Agent Callen?"

His choices were limited. He could refuse and risk being suspended, or he could coöperate. In one respect Vance was right. He had a lot of questions and this might be his only chance to get answers. "Yes, Sir." Without looking at anyone else he followed the Director to the relative privacy of Hetty's office.

Tbc

Caroline

November, 2012


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks to my betas.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter Ten**

Vance adjusted Hetty's chair before sitting. Callen continued to watch him suspiciously. "Sit down, Agent Callen." The Director's eyes narrowed when Callen made no move to comply. "That wasn't a request."

After hesitating just long enough to be confrontational Callen sat. His stomach churned and he had to draw on all his training to keep his unease hidden.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." He maintained eye contact with difficulty. "Why are you really here, Director?"

"I owe you an explanation. The decision to go ahead with the operation was mine. Hetty argued against it. She thought it was too risky."

"She was right." He swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. "Why didn't she fight harder?" he asked softly.

Vance folded his hands on the desk, displaying no hint of unease. "Hetty's first instinct was to protect you. She was willing to put your safety ahead of the operation. That was a sign of weakness I had never expected from her. She threatened to resign until I told her we would go ahead anyway just with a different Operations Manager. She decided she could be of more help to you if she stayed."

"We planned the operation together. She didn't give any hint that she was hiding anything." He still couldn't come to terms with what he saw as a personal betrayal.

"If she had, it would have been treason and I would have had to take action against her. In our line of business we don't have the luxury of sentiment. Taking down Trask and identifying his source was the priority."

He wasn't ready to pursue that line of thought any further yet, although the knot in his stomach loosened with the knowledge that Hetty hadn't acquiesced easily. He moved on to another question that had nagged at him. "Who sold me out?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Callen stood up, his demeanor clearly signalling his displeasure. Any shred of diplomacy he might have harbored vanished. "Then you've had a wasted trip."

"I'm here to help, despite what you might think." Vance pointed to the chair. "Please."

Callen licked dry lips, his increased heart rate signaling an unreasoning need to escape from a situation he found challenging. It was an alien feeling and one he had grown to hate. He sat down again. "I'm listening."

"The leak came from high up the political ladder. It was motivated by greed."

"One million dollars," Callen said flatly.

"Good to know. We're still following the money trail. You weren't the first and you wouldn't have been the last person betrayed. He will be dealt with."

"How? Pensioned off to his house in the Hamptons?" Callen asked sarcastically.

"He will be ruined, personally and politically and will spend time in jail."

"For murder?"

Vance shook his head. "I know it won't help, but he gave us Trask's location. Without him we'd never have found you."

"You're right. It doesn't help." Callen looked down at his hands which had started to shake and marshaled his thoughts. "Why wasn't I fully briefed?"

"We couldn't risk Trask finding out that we were closing in on his source. Keeping you in the dark ensured that you couldn't inadvertently betray that fact."

"You didn't trust me?" he asked angrily. "I've worked undercover for almost twenty years. Keeping secrets is what I was trained to do."

"No one is immune to torture, Agent Callen."

Callen stared at Vance, shocked speechless by the matter-of-fact tone. Memories, which had lurked just below the surface, arose to sear across his brain. Every time Trask or one of his men touched him it was to inflict pain. At first the drugs had been the worst, stripping away his self-control, twisting his mind and body for the entertainment of his captors. It was the ultimate degradation.

He had tried in vain to defy them while growing weaker and more helpless with every hour that passed. Hunger, dehydration and a mounting fever had shackled him as much as the chains. It had amused them to watch him huddle in fear, never knowing what to expect next. There had been no room for bravado, only mind-numbing terror and nightmares. Once, torn from the darkness and privacy of his prison into blinding sunlight he had been beaten to a new height of agony with a horse whip. Then, one day, there had been the knife, wielded by Trask with sickening efficiency, which made all his earlier suffering appear inconsequential.

All the time Trask had hammered home the message that he had been abandoned and had demanded that he confess to a murder he hadn't committed. Many times he had been close to admitting to it just to make the pain stop. The words had remained stuck in his throat, held there by the sliver of hope that Sam, Hetty and his team wouldn't stop looking for him. He vividly remembered screaming himself hoarse and the sensation of blood clogging his throat and mouth. He began to choke.

"That's enough."

Sam's voice sounded very far away. Callen clung to it, using it as the first unbreakable strand in a rope that he hoped would lead him back from the brink of oblivion.

"This is a private meeting, Agent Hanna."

"He needs five minutes."

Sam's hand rested lightly on his shoulder and, this time, the physical contact was welcome, reminding him that he wasn't alone. He realized that he was sitting hunched forward, his arms wrapped protectively around his body, although he didn't remember moving into that position. He sat up slowly.

"Alright," Vance said sympathetically. "We'll take a break."

"Come on, G. Let's get you some air."

Callen swallowed back the bile that was rising in his throat and nodded. During the short walk to the front door he felt like everyone was watching him. It was an unpleasant sensation. He kept his eyes focussed on the ground in front of him and on each step he was taking. As soon as he got outside he turned to lean his palms and forehead against the wall. It gave an illusion of privacy.

"How did you know?" he asked after a moment.

"You looked like you were going to puke all over Hetty's desk."

"Still watching out for me?"

"Always," Sam stated forcefully.

Gradually Callen calmed enough to be able to turn to face his partner. "Guess I owe you again. D'you think you'll ever get tired of hearing me thank you?"

That provoked a brief smile. "Never." Sam's expression turned serious. "Are you sure you're ready for this, G?"

"I thought I was."

"And?"

The truth came out surprisingly easily. "Now I'm not so sure."

Sam sighed. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"

"I need time to figure things out and a friend who won't push."

"I don't like this," Sam said, frustrated by Callen's continued evasion.

"Please, just trust me Sam."

"I can't do it, G. Whatever it is you're trying to do isn't working. You've shut everyone out. Do you know what it's like to watch you suffer like this?"

"I don't know what else to do." Callen's voice shook as he finally made that admission. "What the doctors want me to do...I can't Sam."

"Take it easy. I know you don't want to take that shit they've prescribed or to talk to some stranger about what happened. But, you've got to talk to someone." He lowered his voice. "I saw you this morning and it's like you're walking on a knife-edge."

"I can't control it. I've tried and every time I think I've made some progress something reminds me of what happened." Callen could feel a headache building up and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Coming back here was a bad idea."

"Why? I know you feel I let you down..."

"What?" Callen asked, stunned that Sam could think that. "You pulled me out, Sam."

"It took too long to find you."

For the first time he heard the pain and guilt in his partner's voice. How could he have been so blind and self-absorbed? "Trask was never going to let you find me until he was ready. When he put me on that plane I almost gave up. That's what he wanted. Do you know what kept me going? Even at the lowest point, when I would have done almost anything to make him kill me, I still knew you wouldn't stop looking."

"Then why won't you let me help you?" Sam begged.

"Talking about it won't make it any better."

"How d'you know? You've never tried it."

An unwilling smile touched Callen's lips. "You're a stubborn bastard, aren't you?"

"You'd better believe it."

"I'm not promising anything, but I'll think about it."

"Alright. Now we're getting somewhere."

"I should go back inside. The Director doesn't like being kept waiting."

"If you don't want to go back in I can run interference for you," Sam offered.

"No, it's time I faced up to this." Callen pushed away from the wall. "Just promise me one thing. If it looks like I'm going to punch Vance...stop me."

"Oh, great! I get all the fun jobs."

They parted company inside the building. Sam headed for the bull pen while Callen went to collect a bottle of water from the fridge. He drank deeply, taking his time to consider his next move. Vance still sat at Hetty's desk, working on the computer while Hetty stood close by. When she looked over and saw Callen she said something to Vance before walking away."

Callen waited for her to leave before returning to his chair. "Tell me about Trask's brother." He was relieved that his mind was clearer and that he was feeling more relaxed since talking with Sam.

"He was one of the big players in the drug trade in Eastern Europe. He was vicious and deadly and came to the attention of the DEA when he started to supply heroin to dealers in the U.S. A joint task force was formed, led by a CIA operative with brief to identify the entire supply chain. After an operation lasting more than six months they finally caught a break and managed to turn one of his men. They were given a location and a date. Tupikov was captured and interrogated. They didn't get much out of him before they went too far and rendered him incapable of answering questions. When they received word that some of his friends were looking for him they had to get out quickly. They were in hostile territory and extraction with a comatose prisoner wasn't an option."

"They shot him?"

"According to the official report Tupikov was shot while trying to escape. The truth only came to light later when his body was found. It would have been hard for him to try to escape with two broken legs. By that time the task force had been disbanded and the agents all reassigned to new operations."

"Nothing was done to discipline them?"

"It was too late and, frankly, no one in authority cared enough about the death of a drug dealer to bother."

"His brother cared." Callen took a drink to buy time to think. "Who are you protecting?"

Vance gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "I can see why Hetty thinks so highly of you. The agent in charge of the task force has been working undercover in Afghanistan for the last two years. He's close to bringing down a major Taliban cell. We couldn't risk compromising that operation."

Callen took a moment to consider that. "You were wrong earlier when you said I wouldn't have been found. Trask wanted to kill Sam and any other members of my team that he could get hold of. They'd have been lured into a trap with me as the bait. He was only caught off-guard by the timing of the raid."

"Hetty told me."

"Did she?" Callen stood and leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. "I'm not happy that you risked my life by withholding information. I can deal with it but if you ever put my team in danger like that again you won't like the consequences."

"Are you threatening me, Agent Callen?"

He gave a cold smile. "You can take it any way you want. I'm not going to sit back and watch anyone dying because of faulty intelligence."

"You've made your point." Vance's tone was frosty. "I expect to receive your full report by the end of the week. There is one thing you need to consider, Agent Callen. Would it have made any difference to the outcome if you had been given all the facts? Think about that very carefully before you judge us."

Tbc

Caroline

November 2012


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks to my betas.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter Eleven**

"Are planning to sit there all day?"

Callen raised his head, his eyes slowly focussing. Sam stood in front of him, arms crossed and looking so concerned that he had to smile. "How long have I been down here?"

"A couple of hours."

The gym was empty and quiet. It had been the perfect place for him to sit and think through all the information provided by Vance and its implications. He vaguely remembered leaving his meeting with the Director, brushing off Sam's concern and demanding to be left alone. "Hetty?"

"Upstairs. The Director is on his way back to Washington. He and Hetty had a disagreement before he left. I don't suppose you have any idea what it was about?"

"He probably wanted to suspend me." Callen looked rather guiltily at his partner.

Sam shook his head. 'When are you going to learn not to piss off people in authority?"

"What can I say, Sam? I think it's hardwired into my DNA." His hope that Sam would let the subject drop was quickly squashed.

"Want to tell me what you and Vance were talking about?"

Callen's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had probably missed another meal. "I'm hungry."

"Don't change the subject, G," Sam said irritably.

"I'm not. I need to talk to Hetty and then I want to get out of here and eat something unhealthy." He grinned at the look of horror that crossed Sam's face.

"Okay, but if I have to eat crap you'd better make it worth my while."

"I'll try." Callen stood and stretched to ease his stiff muscles. "Give me ten minutes."

He walked upstairs and stood for a moment watching the activity around him. It always looked chaotic, yet he knew that everyone understood their place in the puzzle. For a while he'd lost his objectivity and it would take more than one day to change that, but finally there was a glimmer of hope. Hetty wasn't at her desk. He looked around, finally spotting her coming down from the Ops Center. He had never seen her look so tired. He went to meet her.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Callen?" she asked, her feelings masked behind her usual professional courtesy.

"Can we talk?"

"Yes, of course."

He followed her to her office and waited for her to sit. "What did the Director tell you?"

"He said you were insubordinate. I told him that was a positive sign."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise before remembering all the other times Hetty had stood up for him and his team. "Why didn't you tell me that you tried to talk him out of the operation?"

"It wouldn't have served any useful purpose."

"It would have helped me to know that I hadn't been thrown to the wolves without someone fighting for me." He sat down and leaned forward desperate for her to understand the strength of his feelings. "Trask wanted me to feel betrayed and he did a damn good job convincing me of that. I couldn't make sense out of anything that was happening. It wasn't hard to believe that I couldn't rely on my friends to try to find me."

"You are being very hard on yourself. Remember that he knew a lot about your upbringing from your file. He was cruel and played on your fears while you were terribly vulnerable. The drugs alone would have compromised anyone's ability to think clearly. Add to that your other injuries and it's a wonder you held on for as long as you did."

"I guess I'm just naturally stubborn." He gave her a weak grin.

"You are a great deal more than that, Mr. Callen," she said with conviction.

He leaned back and studied his hands. "Vance asked if I would have done anything differently if I'd known that Trask would target me. I've been thinking about that."

"Have you reached a conclusion?"

"I'm getting there. I know I would still have accepted the operation. It might have helped me to prepare mentally for the possibility of capture, but that's always a risk when working undercover. I don't think anything would have made it any easier to face being tortured."

"I'm sorry you were put in that position. If we'd known what he was going to do, we would not have allowed the operation to continue. We didn't expect him to leave Los Angeles with you or to target Mr. Hanna."

"You're not that naïve. Vance would never have agreed to terminate the operation, particularly when he knew there was a good chance of improving his political capital by catching a traitor. He looks at the bigger picture and believes that sacrificing the life of one agent can be an acceptable price to pay."

"He's wrong."

"You don't believe that, Hetty."

"Oh, but I do, Mr. Callen. Times have changed since the end of the Cold War. Technology has advanced further than we ever thought possible and there are other ways to trap our enemies."

"Not always. That's what Vance wanted me to understand. You and I both took an oath to protect this country and we knew it could cost us our lives." He gazed intently at her. "I'd just like a little more warning next time."

Some of the strain left her face. "I will see what I can do."

Callen bowed his head, physically and emotionally drained by the events of the day. "You were right to take me off operational status. Sam needs a partner that he can rely on and I'm not ready to be back out on the streets."

"Take your time. I'm sure I can find plenty of tasks to keep you out of mischief. However, I will give you a piece of advice, if you are willing to accept it. Stay out of the Director's way for a while."

"I guess I crossed the line with him."

"You certainly did, but I'm sure he'll get over it...given time."

Callen nodded, knowing that the challenges weren't over yet. "I promised Sam some answers."

"Ah, yes, he doesn't like being kept in the dark any more than you do. You should tell him the truth. You might not have realized it, but your decision to keep quiet appears to have been motivated in part at least by a desire to protect me from Mr. Hanna's wrath. I assure you that I am quite capable of dealing with the consequences."

"I'm sure you are, Hetty."

NCISLA

Callen stared out the window of the diner while trying to decide how to begin. Cool air from the ceiling fans tickled his neck causing him to suppress a shudder. Sam hadn't pressed him to talk on the ride from the office but his patience would soon end. Something heavy hit the floor behind him sending Callen's heart racing. He instinctively reached for his gun forgetting that he was unarmed. His hand brushed against the water-glass sending it spinning onto the floor where it shattered. Sam's hand clamped down hard on his wrist.

"Start talking, G."

Their server hurried over to clean up the mess. Callen stammered an apology, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He waited for her to leave before licking his lips nervously and forcing himself to meet Sam's concerned stare.

"I was set up. Trask thought I had killed his brother."

"You didn't?"

Callen shook his head. "My file was altered to make it look like I had."

"Your file? How would Trask know what was in your file?"

"He had a source who was leaking information about the agents involved in his brother's death. The whole operation was about identifying where the leak was coming from."

"That's what Hetty was keeping from me."

"She kept it from me too." Callen stopped talking when their server arrived carrying their food. He looked at the bacon cheeseburger that he had craved and found his appetite had deserted him.

Sam frowned. "You didn't know?"

"Vance decided that I didn't need that information to do my job. Hetty...Hetty tried to talk him out of it."

"I knew she was lying to me." Although Sam kept his voice low there was no mistaking his anger. "She told me that she'd done a full risk assessment and that you'd been involved all the way."

Callen pushed his plate away. "I thought I had. It was only after Trask accused me of murder that I realized what had happened. By then it was too late." He glanced at his partner, recognizing the signs. Sam was furious, although his dark scowl at least seemed to be keeping people away from their booth and giving them some privacy.

"Are you alright?" Callen asked.

"If Vance was still here I'd punch him myself," Sam growled. "What was Hetty thinking when she agreed to such a half-assed plan?"

"I've asked that question a hundred times. She never tried to explain it to me. She just let me believe that she'd put me in harm's way without a second thought. It was the Director who told me that she'd opposed his decision and only retracted a threat of resignation because she knew she could be of more help if she stayed."

"So, that's it? You're just going to accept what she and Vance told you? They could have sent me as back-up. You didn't have to be cut off like that."

"I agreed to it."

"You didn't have all the facts," Sam stated firmly.

"I know but if you had been involved in the operation Trask might have caught you too and things would have become ugly really fast. He wanted me to know what it was like to lose someone important to me. He'd been told enough to know that you're the closest thing to a brother I've ever had. I don't think either of us would have walked away if he'd captured us both. He would have tortured you to death in front of me before putting a bullet in my brain."

Sam's expression had softened at Callen's admission that they were like family. "You don't know that. If I'd been watching your back he'd never have had the chance to snatch you."

"I was playing blind. Even if you'd been there...it wouldn't have helped."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Sam demanded. "Why are you protecting Hetty?"

"Because the bottom line is that we have to trust her. I don't have to tell you about the chain of command. When you were a SEAL you followed orders without questioning them. To do that you had to trust the officers above you. When we're in the middle of an operation we can't afford to second-guess or question Hetty's instructions. I'm not saying I'm ready to do that yet. It's going to take time but when I do get there, I need to know I can count on you."

"You're asking a lot, G."

"What other choice is there? I don't want to walk away from NCIS."

"You walked away from your friends," Sam said accusingly.

Callen sighed deeply. "I know and I'm sorry. Look, Sam, I told you about Hetty so that we can move on from what happened. You figured out that we weren't being honest with you and mistrust can be lethal. I should know."

"What about everything else? I am just supposed to forget about the mess you were in when we found you?"

"I know that was hard. You didn't even know if I was still alive when you assaulted his compound. That kind of debt can't be repaid."

"I don't want thanks. What I want is the truth."

Callen shook his head. "No, you don't. I'm pretty sure you can figure out most of what happened and hearing the details won't help either of us."

"Burying it inside isn't the answer." Sam clenched his fists in frustration.

"Have you told anyone everything that happened when you were a SEAL?" He met Sam's stare with a challenge of his own. "Sometimes we just have to deal with things in our own way. The most damaging thing Trask did was to make me doubt my friends. He knew that trusting people has never come easily to me and he used that against me. If there's one thing today has taught me it's that I never quite let go of that trust and that means I can heal."

"Damn right you can," Sam stated. "I'm getting too old to have to break in a new partner."

"Are we good?"

Sam stared at him silently for a long time. "That depends. Are you going to move back home and start answering your damn phone?"

"Yes, Mom." Callen's smile contained more than a hint of relief.

Tbc

Caroline

November, 2012


	12. Chapter 12

I'm sad to say that this is the final chapter. This story has been a joy to write and I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. My betas made me work very hard and the story is better as a result. I am extremely grateful to them for pushing me. A huge thank you to everyone who followed the story, sent reviews and set up alerts and favourites. It has been my pleasure to share my first NCISLA story with you.

**The Price of a Life**

**Chapter Twelve**

Callen walked into the bullpen and dropped his bag on the desk. Sam looked at him inquiringly and he shook his head.

"Again? That's the third time." Sam said.

"The doctor doesn't believe that I'm ready to resume undercover work," Callen stated bitterly. "I've done everything they wanted. The nightmares and flashbacks have gone. I've spilled my guts to the counsellor and they still won't accept that I'm cured. What else do they want from me?"

"I'm sorry, G. What went wrong this time?"

"Apparently I still have anger issues. Who wouldn't be angry after what happened? It won't affect the way I do my job and I told them that. My sleep habits bother them too despite me telling them over and over that I've never had a decent night's sleep in my life."

"You're doing well. They'll realize that soon," Sam said reassuringly.

"Yeah." He poured a cup of coffee and sat down, staring morosely at the stack of paperwork sitting in his in tray.

"Callen. Sam. Hetty wants you both in Ops," Eric called.

"That doesn't sound good," Callen said, quickly following his partner up the stairs to the Ops center where Hetty, Eric and Nell were waiting for them.

"A call just came through the police scanner," Eric said. "Shots have been fired at an address in West Adams. The first officers on the scene called it in as a potential hostage situation."

"What's that got to do with us?" Callen asked.

"It's the house where Kensi and Deeks are protecting a witness."

Callen and Sam exchanged a concerned look. "Have we heard from them?"

"We've lost contact."

"Tell whoever is in charge to wait for us to get there," Callen said.

"You haven't been cleared yet, Mr. Callen. In fact I've just been informed that you failed another assessment."

"I'm not sitting this one out, Hetty," Callen stated with total fervour.

"I don't imagine you are. I'm prepared to go against medical advice in this case and rely on my judgement and observations. Miss Jones, put a note on Mr. Callen's file confirming that I have deemed him fit to return to full operational duties."

"Thank you. You ready, Sam."

"Yeah."

"Send the address to our phones, Eric. Keep trying to re-establish contact. We'll be in touch once we reach the scene."

"Good luck, Mr. Callen."

NCISLA

The normally quiet suburban street had been cordoned off at both ends. Sam pulled up at the police checkpoint and showed his badge to the officer. "NCIS. Two of our people are in that house."

Callen leaned over. "Who's in charge?"

"Lt. Richardson. He's over there." The officer pointed to a group of men standing twenty yards inside the police cordon.

They got out, Sam opened the trunk and handed Callen a tactical vest. "You sure you're ready for this, G?"

Callen pulled the vest over his head and fastened it in place. He reached for his sidearm and holster. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. I'm not going to risk Kensi and Deeks just to make a point." He buckled the holster and strapped it down to his leg. A quick check confirmed that the gun was loaded and ready. He glanced over at Sam. "You take the rifle. You're a better shot."

"Do we have a plan?"

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." They walked quickly over to Lt. Richardson, noting the news teams and curious spectators watching from a safe distance. A SWAT unit was already on scene.

"I'm looking for Lt. Richardson," Callen said.

"I'm Richardson. Who are you?"

"Special Agent Callen, NCIS." He flashed his badge. "This is Special Agent Hanna. That's one of our safe houses. We believe that two of our agents are in there. Want to tell me what happened?"

"A neighbour reported hearing shots. One of our units was close by and went to investigate. When they arrived they were met with automatic gunfire. The house is surrounded and we're confident that no-one got out. All the neighbouring properties have been evacuated. We've been told that there were two men and a woman living there so we have to assume they're either dead or hostages."

"The woman and one of the men are NCIS. The other man is a federal witness due to testify before a Grand Jury tomorrow," Sam said. "Have the gunmen made any demands?"

"Nothing. We've tried calling but they don't pick up. Do you have any idea who they are?"

"Most likely Iranians," Callen told him. "The enquiry relates to an Iranian cleric suspected of recruiting young men for an extremist terrorist organization. These people are fanatics who'd rather die than surrender."

"We have a sniper team in position but so far they can't get a clear shot and we have no idea how many gunmen we're dealing with."

Callen licked his lips and looked around. "We need to get inside that building." He started to unbuckle his gun belt.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm going in. I'll keep my phone on and use it to feed information to you."

"Are you out of your mind? You won't get within ten yards of that house without being shot."

Callen stripped off his vest and held it out. "It's our only chance. If I can persuade them that we're willing to negotiate for the lives of the hostages there's a chance they'll listen."

"What if they're already dead?" Sam asked bluntly.

"I thought I was the pessimist in this partnership?"

"It won't be much of a partnership if you get killed your first day back."

"Don't worry so much. I've had training for hostage negotiation."

"Were you paying attention? You never pay attention to lectures. I could count on one hand the number of times you've followed standard operating procedure."

"That's why you're here. Get everyone ready and wait for my signal. Make sure no-one gets the bright idea of storming the building before I'm in position." He handed Sam his badge. "I don't want them finding out I'm with NCIS. It'll be better if they don't know I'm connected to Kensi and Deeks. Lieutenant, can I borrow your badge?"

Richardson hesitated. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Callen dialled Ops. "I'm sure." He waited for Eric to answer. "Eric, monitor the signal from my phone and patch it through to Sam's comlink." He pulled his com from his ear and handed it to Sam. "I need to go in clean."

Sam reluctantly nodded. "What's the safe word?"

Callen smiled. "Mexico."

"Mexico? How're you going to work that into a sentence?"

"I'll think of something." He walked away, stopping at the edge of the area cordoned off by the police. He knew that as soon as he stepped away from the tape he would be a target. He took a minute to evaluate his state of mind. Adrenaline coursed through his body, heightening his awareness of his surroundings. His heartbeat was steady and so were his hands. There was a healthy level of fear, not the paralyzing fear he had fought for the last few weeks. It felt good to be out on the streets again. He raised his arms and began to walk slowly toward the house.

The glint of a rifle sight flashed from the upstairs window. He stopped, keeping his hands in clear sight. "LAPD," he called. "I'm authorized to negotiate."

"What do you want?" The voice had a noticeable Iranian accent.

"We want a peaceful resolution. Can I come in?"

"Are you armed?"

"No." Callen turned slowly to show that he wasn't carrying a gun. "Our only concern is for the people inside the house. Are they alive?"

"Two of them still live. Walk very slowly and don't make any sudden moves or you will be the next to die."

Callen risked a quick glance over his shoulder. There was no movement from the police lines, although he knew Sam would be as worried as he was about the fact that someone had already been killed.

The door eased open as he approached and he saw a gun pointed at his head. The man holding it had the confident stance of a fighter and eyes that sent an icy shiver down Callen's back. He stepped inside and was pushed face first against the wall. The gun barrel was pressed firmly against his neck, discouraging movement. A thorough search yielded the police badge and his phone. The gun withdrew.

"Turn round."

Callen turned, quickly scanning what he could see of the room. There was a body lying partly obscured by the sofa. He could only tell that it was a man which meant Kensi was still alive. The man who had searched him tossed the badge and phone on a nearby chair and gestured with the gun. Callen walked further into the house, stopping when he saw a second gunman pointing a semi-automatic pistol at Kensi.

Kensi knelt on the floor holding a bloody towel and with blood stains on her t-shirt. Deeks lay beside her, bleeding heavily from a wound in the upper part of his right leg. "He needs medical attention," Kensi said, reaching for a fresh towel and pressing down on her partner's leg.

"Shut up."

"I'm Lt. Richardson, LAPD," Callen said. When Kensi's eyes locked with his he kept his face expressionless. Apart from a natural flare of hope, Kensi gave no sign that she had ever seen him before. "We're prepared to offer safe passage in return for the release of your hostages."

"I don't believe you." The man behind him prodded him forward. "Your President has said that you don't negotiate with terrorists and that is how you see us."

"Why let me in if you aren't willing to talk?" Callen asked. He could see Deeks' face now. The detective was awake, his skin clammy and his mouth tightly shut against the pain.

"It will keep your colleagues occupied, waiting for you to return."

"They're rigging the house to explode," Kensi said quickly. The man guarding her leaned down and slapped her hard across the face.

"Hey!" Callen took a step forward. A heavy blow across his shoulders sent him crashing to his knees. He felt the gun barrel touch the back of his head and went completely still while his heart pounded. "This doesn't have to end with more bloodshed."

"We have accomplished our task. Death is a small price to pay. Get over by the woman and sit down."

Callen released the breath he had been holding and moved over to Kensi. Her cheek was red from the blow and she looked very angry. "How is he?" he asked.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I don't think the bullet has done any damage to the bone."

"Stop talking about me like I wasn't here," Deeks gasped. "Sorry I screwed up, Kenz."

"You saved my life," Kensi said.

Callen looked at Deeks with new respect. He lowered his voice. "How many are we dealing with?"

"The two down here and two more," Kensi whispered. "One of them is out back setting up the explosives and the other is upstairs."

"I saw someone with a rifle on my way in." He turned his attention back to the spokesman. "What do your three friends think about becoming martyrs?"

"Be quiet."

"Have you discussed it with the guy upstairs with the rifle? I bet you even have one of your brain-washed kids wiring the explosives out back."

The Iranian moved closer. "One more word and I will shoot you."

Callen leaned over to check on Deeks. "We need a distraction," he said softly. Deeks nodded before suddenly starting to convulse.

"He's having a seizure," Kensi shouted.

The gunman who had struck Kensi looked at his partner, surprise and confusion on his face.

Callen smiled coldly. "Guess I should have taken that vacation in Mexico," he said clearly.

He lunged at the man closest to him, trusting Kensi to make her own move. He hoped that Sam was in position and that they weren't about to be faced with two other armed fanatics. He knocked his prey to the ground and used his weight to hold the man in place while he grappled for possession of the gun. Several blows connected with his face and blood ran down into one eye. He blinked to clear his vision. The Iranian bucked beneath him almost causing him to lose his leverage. They rolled across the floor, the gun pinned between their bodies. The terrorist pressed his forearm against Callen's throat, choking him. Memories of being held down by Trask's men fuelled his anger and a fierce determination not to be rendered helpless again gave him the impetus to continue fighting.

He used the strength of his body to force the man away and drove his knee into his opponent's groin before taking hold of the Iranian's right arm and slamming it repeatedly against the ground. When the man's grip loosened Callen grabbed the gun and fired two quick shots. He rolled onto his side, quickly assessing the situation. Kensi was still fighting her opponent and looked to be taking a severe beating. Callen aimed and fired. Blood sprayed across the wall and the man collapsed.

"Thanks, Callen." Kensi caught her breath and picked up the gun before kneeling down to check on Deeks.

"You good?" Callen asked.

"We're fine."

He stood up and took a couple of deep breaths. He could hear no movement from upstairs which could mean the target was down or could indicate a problem. He approached the door leading to the kitchen, gun raised and ready to fire. There were footsteps on the tiled floor and he pressed his back against the wall. The footsteps stopped.

"You there, G?"

"Sam?"

Sam walked through the door, alert for trouble. "One hostile down outside. SWAT took out the gunman on the upper floor. We should get out of here so that the bomb squad can take a look at the explosives." He gave Callen a relieved smile. "Now do you want to tell me why it took you so long to give the signal?"

"I guess I must be out of practice." He slapped Sam across the back. "We need to get a medic in here. Deeks has been shot, although it sounds like we have him to thank for Kensi still being with us. Maybe we should keep him after all."

NCISLA

Callen stood by the car watching the ambulance pull away. He was aware of the frenzy of activity around him and yet he stood apart from it.

"How's Deeks?" Sam asked, joining his partner and handing Callen back his badge.

"The usual. He didn't shut up until they gave him morphine. Once that took effect he was completely high and started singing. I'm not sure which was more disturbing."

Sam chuckled. "What did they say about his injury?"

"The bullet's still in there so it's painful, but he'll be okay. Kensi's gone with him to the hospital. She needs to get checked over as well. She'll call us later with an update."

"He kept surprising me," Sam said. "Even though his brain and his mouth don't always connect he isn't a bad operative." He met Callen's look of astonishment. "Just don't tell him I said that."

"I won't say a word."

"How're you doing, G?"

"I'm good." He stared off into the distance, thinking. "Relieved. For a time I wasn't sure I'd ever be operational again."

"I told you talking would help."

"I suppose you want me to admit that you were right." Callen opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

"That would be nice. It would be a surprise...but nice." Sam took a last look around before getting in the car.

"I think we should go and grab a couple of beers."

"It's the middle of the day. Hetty will be expecting us back at Ops."

"She'll understand, Sam."

"Alright." Sam started the car. "But we're using your expense account."

"I don't think that's a good idea. She's still on my case about my last expense claim."

"Why?"

"When I was trying to get to Trask I set up a fake hit on his accountant. It cost two grand."

"What's the problem?"

"She wants a receipt."

Sam could see the corners of Callen's mouth twitching while he tried to suppress a smile.

"It's good to have you back, partner." Sam eased the car into the line of traffic and headed for the nearest bar.

The End

Caroline

November, 2012


End file.
